Law of Life: Rogue's Story
by thatcraftykid
Summary: "Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future." Narrated by Rogue, this story spans four years in her life as an X-Man, with a focus on her evolving relationship with Logan.
1. Honest Development, 1

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ "Strength to Endure" ~_

It's human nature to take certain things for granted. It's a fact of life that, most of the time, we don't notice how lucky we are to have the things that we do until we don't have them anymore. Part of growing up is learning to take the time to look around and just be grateful, even when it seems like there's more in life to be angry about than anything else. "It's not fair." I've whined that phrase hundreds of times, only to get the same answer: "Life's not fair." Well, fairness is subjective. Anytime something seems unfair to one person, there's someone else in the world who sees it as perfectly fair.

As long as I can remember, the leading party in America has been the conservatives. Coming from a Southern background, I never questioned that. Now that I find myself on the opposite team, well, you can imagine that my bumper sticker doesn't read, "Proud Member of the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy." From my point of view, popular conservative opinion is unjust and discriminatory toward mutants. The conservatives, of course, don't see it that way. Therein lays the conflict. They are our enemy. Not in the same way that the Brotherhood is our enemy, but our enemy nonetheless. We fight them with words and through peaceful example. We protect them from ourselves.

There is a political beast in some ways worse than the conservatives, however, and they are the fence-sitters from both parties. President McKenna, as much as I admire him for fending off his own bloodthirsty constituents for so many years, was a fence-sitter. He adopted that position after that first meeting with Professor Xavier and stuck with it for the rest of his first term and throughout most of his second. Under President McKenna, we were forced to play a tense waiting game on a field of shaky equilibrium. Many mutant lives were lost in those six years, a lot of them ardent yet weary supporters of a man who wouldn't, for fear of political backlash, publicly admit that they were human beings – good ones at that. All of those losses were hard, but none more so than the first. Dr. Grey's death affected us all, and I was no exception. Her death forced me to take the first steps away from self-indulgent teenager and toward eventual adulthood.

I didn't know Dr. Grey apart from what she was to me: teacher, X-Man, and the woman Logan loved. When she was alive, I didn't realize that what she was was only a limited reflection of who she was. It didn't occur to me to care until after she died. That might sound awful, but it wasn't like I expected her to have any kind of a vested interest in me, either. I was her student, the girl she helped save from Magneto, and Logan's stray. I didn't think it would have surprised her to know that there was more to me than that, but it didn't matter. It's a lesson everyone has to learn. No one person is center of the universe.

The thing is, even knowing that, when I saw Logan kissing her the night before she died, I took it as a personal insult. I hated her. But it was a superficial hate that didn't hold under the weight of my self-pity. I knew that kiss had nothing to do with me. That was probably why it hurt so much. If it had been about me, it would have fed my ego more than my jealousy. As it was, all I could muster were hurt feelings. Logan was the absolute number one in my life; I could only guess where I ranked in his. And I did guess, often. Every second he wasn't paying attention to me I unconsciously pushed myself lower and lower in his estimation. It was a masochistic game I played with my emotions, but I was young then. And, to my credit, I grew up quickly after that.

Even back then, I was an incredibly introspective person – a byproduct of never needing too many friends as a child and of surviving on my own for four and half months with only a faraway sense of exploration and curiosity to keep me going.

I tended to think a lot about things, Dr. Grey's death especially. Perhaps it was morbid, but her death fascinated and humbled me all at the same time. For one thing, she saved my life. Well, she saved everyone's life, including mine. I couldn't begrudge her after that. For another, her sacrifice was an entirely selfless act and, having been so self-involved for so long, that remarkable fact stuck with me. I began to admire selflessness, and later I aspired to it. It was a brave thing to do, too. It must have hurt like hell – both the force of the water crashing down on her and the leaving behind of the world and everyone she loved in it. Even so, she sounded astonishingly calm when she communicated through Professor Xavier. She made a choice that she honestly believed was right, and she stuck with it. Can't ask a person to do more than that.

Her power, though, was the fascinating part. The absolute strength of it. She was everything for one moment. It felt like she controlled the world. Then she was gone. It was so shockingly abrupt that I couldn't believe it. I was torn between Logan's stunned acceptance and Cyclops's desperate denial. Kurt's simple prayer moved me. I'd forgotten how comforting it was to know, without a doubt, that death was not the end. I prayed with him, silently, trying to will back tears of my own so as not to infringe on anyone else's pain. Before, I might have been resentful that it was her death that had moved the unshakable Wolverine to tears. I wasn't.

Like I said, I grew up fast.

Maybe Professor Xavier sensed that from me and that's why my on-order uniform arrived much earlier than expected. Then again, Bobby's did too.

So maybe it was just a matter of us being there and looking like part of the team – a united front to present to President McKenna. Or it could have been a reward for keeping the cause when we might have been swayed by Magneto's cruel logic the way John had been. If that was the case, he needn't have worried about me. After the Statue of Liberty, a little of Magneto had lingered around the edges of my mind for a while, all grand intentions and misguided morals. To a certain extent, I was sympathetic, but I didn't confuse sympathy with agreement. A forced martyr is not a martyr at all. If I was going to die for a cause, it wasn't going to be Magneto's. My loyalty was to Professor Xavier's principle of peaceful coexistence, however impractical and idealistic.

For me, it wasn't only an honor to be a part of the team; it was also a point of pride to hold the title of youngest X-Man ever recruited. I beat Bobby by two weeks and two days. He didn't mind, but I still liked to tease him about it on occasion. Yes, I did still tease people despite all my talk of premature adulthood and emotional maturity. Humor is one of the best defenses anyone can have in this world. It's necessary for balance and escape. The only other defense that can top humor is love.

It's funny, I named myself Rogue in a burst of cockiness at being a badass pickpocket and runaway, yet I know I craved love more then than I ever did as plain old Mississippi-born-and-bred Anna Marie D'Ancanto. I had it easy there. My mom and dad were good to me and the kids at school were nice enough, though I never really felt the need to socialize all that much. I liked a few close friends who didn't mind that I was a dreamer. David hadn't minded. He listened to me talk endlessly about the adventures I was going to have, always with an air of indulgence. That afternoon in my room, I'd toyed with the idea of inviting him to come with me to Alaska. I ultimately settled for kissing him first.

For the longest time, I fixated and agonized over that decision. The three weeks I spent lying in my bed, staring up at my ceiling and thinking about David comatose in the hospital, I prayed that God would make it so the kiss had never happened. I guess I thought that if I could take back that one moment that I could take back everything, especially my mutation. It didn't work. I held a grudge for as long as my life was shit, then I came to the school and things weren't so bad anymore, so I forgot to be angry. There were times, nevertheless, when I blamed God because I couldn't kiss Bobby. That was because nothing had ever been my fault. I was always a victim of circumstance. I eventually came to understand that when things I can't control happen, it's my responsibility to make them turn out the way I want. No one's going to do it for me because no one controls my actions. The catch-22 of freewill, I suppose.

Kurt and I have had a lot of discussions about freewill. Just after graduation I became a sort of teacher's aide to him despite the fact that I hadn't taken yet taken any of his theology or German classes – the two subjects added to the curriculum after Professor Xavier invited him to stay. Kurt's take on God-given freewill is something I've been pondering for years. He holds that all the twists and turns life takes are God's way of helping us become better people. If everything were easy all the time then all of those heroic ideals we hold in such high esteem would be meaningless. Resilience and forgiveness. Sacrifice. It's the idea that without hate there can't be love and without pain there can't be pleasure.

Yet, at the same time, I balked at the idea of being tested, of having my strings pulled to and fro so that I could be manipulated to live up to grandiose concepts that half the time I couldn't even understand. I admitted that sentiment to Kurt one evening, quite hesitantly. I didn't want him to think less of me because I had doubts. He, of course, didn't and never would.

I remember, vividly, him smiling down at me, pointed teeth gleaming, unsettling yellow eyes fond. His sharp nail had been gentle where it touched my cheek. When he'd spoken, his voice had been soft and his words sincere. "With Him it is never a test, pass or fail, Anna Marie."

He always calls me Anna Marie, even though I prefer Rogue. It's because it's like Mary. He thinks Mary is the most beautiful name in the world.

"There's always another chance. We will fail most of the time and it will hurt," he'd continued, his accent thickening as he spoke. "Then there will be times when we succeed magnificently. That is why we live."

"I thought you said we live for love and faith?"

"Love is part of our success. Faith is what sustains us until we reach it, and the only thing we have left after we lose it. Faith is strength."

"And bitterness makes us weak," I'd finished the familiar sentiment.

"You're a smart little lamb. I don't understand why you do so poorly in my German class," he'd teased, his triangular tail brushing the back of my chair as he walked past me to his desk. "Could it be my teaching, I wonder?"

We'd smiled at each other and settled into back into the flowing, angelic music that always accompanied our evening sessions. Once again my faith had been sustained through a demonic-looking blue man with more forgiveness and understanding in one of his hoof-like fingers than most people have in their whole bodies. Like Dr. Grey, Kurt played a huge part in shaping the person I am today. More so, because I was given the opportunity to really know Kurt as a person. Which is a pretty rare thing, even between friends.

Our friendship spawned from a mutual feeling of alienation, what with both of us being a couple of the biggest freaks in the freak show. Not that I'd ever tell him that. He doesn't share my sardonic sense of humor. Sarcasm is the clever, more popular cousin of bitterness, but it's bitterness nonetheless. Kurt is a much stronger human being than I will ever be. I lean on sarcasm like a crutch. It's too late to learn to walk without it. I find it too comfortable. But who would we be without our little flaws? Better people maybe, but certainly not ourselves.

At any rate, I started hanging around Kurt the summer after Dr. Grey's funeral. I was still clinging to my adolescent ways at that point. I was an X-Man, sure, but I was also still taking classes for my GED and dating Bobby and trying to make friends with Jubilee and Kitty even though we didn't have much in common. It was a relaxed period that I took for granted. Bobby and I were never sent on any missions or anything dangerous, so we enjoyed the perks of being X-Men without any of the responsibility. The perks, for me, were all a matter of walking down the hall with an air of superiority, and getting to train with Logan one-on-one every day except Sunday and the days he, Cyclops, and Storm were gone on missions.

They weren't gone a whole lot, actually. It was strange to have Logan around so often. It made me realize just how little time we'd really actually spent together before. Sharing life-alternating experiences with a person tends to forge a strong bond quickly. That, and the fact that pieces of him still lurked around my consciousness. I got it into my head and heart that he was mine so thoroughly that it didn't seem at all unusual for me to seek him out to shoot a game of pool or just sit around and watch TV. I cringe when I think about how often I was around. Poor guy. It's a wonder he put up with me. He got used to it eventually, and he must have come to enjoy it since he ditched me in favor of bars less and less as time wore on.

Meanwhile, I endeavored to become his confessor. I'd ask him about Stryker and Dr. Grey. He'd get really still when I did that. If he felt like it, he'd tell me bits here and there, leaving me to paste the full story together myself. Sometimes he'd just leave. I didn't pursue as hard as I maybe could have. I figured if he wasn't talking to me about it then he wasn't confiding in anyone else, either.

Sadly, that was what mattered most. But it's good that I didn't push him at the time. It would have been for the wrong reasons.


	2. Honest Development, 2

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Atom Tan ~_

I don't want to paint too awful of a portrait of myself, but don't forget that I was still with Bobby the whole time I was attempting to spend my every waking hour with my best bud.

I always ran it by Bobby first and he'd say it was fine, of course. What was he going to do? It was Bobby. He had pride and integrity. He knew being with Logan made me happy so he let it go. If he'd really loved me, he wouldn't have stayed in the background. I found comfort in that. It made my absolute lack of awareness toward him a little less heinous.

Bobby was with me out of a sense of obligation, to be honest. First I was the new girl he wanted to welcome, then I was the untouchable girl he wanted to make feel normal. Lots of our classmates gave him a hard time for dating me. I'd found evidence of more than one drawing from Peter Rasputin. Jubilee had actually shown a few of them to me when she was first dating him, I guess to impress me with the great Colossus's sensitive side. It had been at lunch, with Bobby sitting right beside me. She'd failed to notice, or care, that it was us being depicted in some of those drawings. If there was anyone more selfish than I in this world it was Jubilation Lee – God love her.

"He's talented," was all Bobby had said, his hand resting over one showing him being electrocuted by my kiss. He'd been trying to shield me the way he did whenever he told me he wasn't afraid of my skin. He really should have been. If he'd been wary, maybe what had happened that day at the pool would've become such a huge deal. Not that I'm blaming him. You can't blame someone with pure motives.

It was the last week of August, the end of summer vacation. Some of the kids had gone home for the duration and those left weren't hanging around the pool despite it being warm and bright out. There was some sort of X-Men meeting going on, but Bobby and I decided our attendance wasn't necessary.

He wanted to spend time with me, and I wanted to break in my new bathing suit and get a tan. I was tired of being pasty white. I didn't much care that it was dangerous for me to be walking around with so much bare skin showing. My wardrobe was pretty risqué back then. I'd wear the long gloves, but I'd also wear sleeveless shirts with plunging necklines. I'd chosen that bikini specifically because it had the least amount of actual fabric per any two-piece in the store. I swear Bobby had the self-control of a monk in a brothel. I was a tease, no matter how innocent I thought myself at the time. I just figured it didn't matter. Regardless of how sexy I looked, nothing was ever going to happen. My mutation was the chastity belt that would not quit. Any other eighteen year-old boy would've been running around behind my back constantly. Not Bobby. He made do with our five-second kisses and my ever-more revealing choice of attire.

"It'll be weird next semester," I remarked to him as we treaded water in the pool, just to make conversation. "I mean, we're in college but we're still in the same place with the same teachers. Usually when you think of college, you think of going away from home. It's worse than if I'd gone to Community back in Meridian."

"We could've applied to other schools," Bobby pointed out.

"Please. Our transcripts are from Mutant High. Who'd accept us?"

"Katie Fischer is going to Brown and – what's his name? The kid in our physics class. We call him Alchemy, but what's his real name? Tony?"

"Tommy."

"Right. Tommy. Anyway, he's going to Harvard. Probably paying in gold rocks or chair legs or something."

"That would be a useful power."

"I wouldn't mind having it," Bobby agreed, flipping over to float on his back. "Except, that 'Midas Touch' song would get annoying. John used to call him Goldmember."

"Oh, God," I laughed, remembering how literally Jubilee had taken that remark.

"I don't know," Bobby said. "I think I'd rather stay here. It's home. And we do have our own rooms now."

"True."

"Then there's the X-Men to consider. We're probably going to have to get serious about that pretty soon. Stop skipping meetings."

I sighed good-humouredly. "I suppose so."

Grinning, Bobby sank down in the water so that only his eyes were showing. They were mischievous as came toward me slowly. My gut tightened.

"I think I'm going to lay out now," I said, pretending not to catch what he was doing. He didn't like it when I stopped him from kissing me, but he was a good sport about it. I was tired of hurting him. My mind was fairly brimming with the emotions he felt when we kissed – desire, disappointment, and pain. There was so much Bobby in me that I could barely feel Logan anymore.

"Hey, we left the towels inside," Bobby noted, climbing the ladder behind me.

"That's all right. I'm going to air dry," I replied, settling myself on one of the pool chairs. When I closed my eyes, I could feel him hovering over me.

"I'll go get them," he offered after a minute of staring at me.

"Okay," I murmured, already getting drowsy.

"Right back," he said, and leaned over to kiss me quickly before he left.

That was nice, I thought, smiling to myself. Short, sweet, and no one got hurt.

The towels must have been hard to find because Bobby was gone a fairly long time. Long enough for me to fall asleep and some of the younger boys to get up enough courage to bother me.

It was Flea who initiated the dare. He was always underfoot, doing his best to make everyone's life miserable. The point of their game, I gathered later, was to be the one to touch me the longest without a: dying or b: getting caught. The three boys with Flea were his usual partners in crime, Streak and Artie, and along with them was a boy named Rett. I don't know what they said to Rett to convince him to go first. I just remember waking up knowing someone was about to touch my face.

Instinctively – I think I thought I was wearing gloves – I reached out and grabbed Rett's wrist. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, sitting up.

My grip was firm. By the time I noticed the dark blue, telltale veins discoloring the smooth brown of his skin it was too late. My control was lost in the flow of power into me. It was an agonizing rush, as always. I wanted to let go but couldn't. His emotions overwhelmed mine. He was sorry. He hadn't wanted to hassle me. He was new and he wanted to make a good impression, have some friends for once. His name was Everett Thomas. He was only thirteen years old, and he was scared.

Abruptly, the flow of power turned. I hit the concrete hard as I fell from the chair to my knees. I let go of his hand, but his stayed clamped on my wrist. My flesh burned under his fingers. This is what it felt like, I realized. Rett was using my power against me and this was what it felt like. I was going to die. He wouldn't be able let go and I didn't have the strength to fight it –

I was jerked from behind, my wrist torn from Rett's grip. I could feel Bobby's arms around my bare waist. His skin was soft and slightly cool.

"Let go," I wheezed, limp in his grasp.

"You're not hurting me." Bobby was exhilarated by that fact. His breath was erratic against my ear. He hugged me to him more tightly.

My much-abused skin reacted slowly. I didn't have the energy to even pretend to resist the absorption of Bobby's strength. My body was using him to replace what Rett had taken and more.

Eventually, Bobby crumbled to the ground, twitching. I had taken too much. I was too powerful, too cold. To release the pressure, I froze the ground and the pool water. I staggered away from Bobby and Rett, away from the other boys' shocked, accusing stares.

It's not my fault, I thought wildly.

I lost my footing on the icy edge of the pool and careened backward. The ice broke under my weight, the back of my head getting the full impact. It hurt at first, but the arctic water numbed the pain for me. I drifted toward the bottom almost serenely. Two figures made a picturesque silhouette where they knelt at the edge of the pool. It didn't bother me at all that the water was turning pinkish or that I was drowning. It was the most natural thing in the world to be still and wait for the third boy to come back with Logan to save me.

How would he save me? I wondered. Knowing him, he'd just jump in and grab me, not caring that he'd then end up worse off than Bobby and Rett. That's why the other two boys weren't jumping in to try and help. They were scared to touch me. Logan wouldn't be scared, like Bobby wasn't scared, and he'd get hurt. Possibly drown right along with me. The only way he could get me out of the water safely is if I was dead.

My eyes closed at the thought. That sounded like an okay plan to me. I could sleep. No more hurting, no more annoying gloves, no more pity. Just absolute tranquility…

I'd been here before, I realized. Standing on the platform at the train station at night, ticket to nowhere in hand. It would've been so easy, I'd thought, to step in front of the train. It'd be so quick and painless. Painless for me, anyway. My parents would be shocked to see pieces of their little girl on the six o'clock news. They'd feel bad for giving up on me so quick. David would feel bad for telling everyone that it was me who'd almost killed him. All I had to do was step out at the exact right second and everything would be okay…

Fear welled up inside of me. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to die, so I was going to have to save myself.

Lungs burning, senses dulled, I pushed up from the bottom of the pool, reaching for the melting hole I'd made in the ice. I bobbed out like an otter, gasping in that first lungful of air every bit like my life depended on it. I started sinking again. My legs and arms were dead weight. It hurt to move them, it hurt to push the ice away, but I managed to make it to the edge.

I had to drag myself out. My forearms slipped on the melting ice and scraped across the raised concrete. It took a few tries, and I earned myself a lot of bruises before I finally made it up. I coughed awhile to get the water out of my lungs, then fell over on my side. I could feel the blood flow freely from the cut on the back of my head.

I fought oblivion for as long as I could.


	3. Honest Development, 3

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment ~_

Rubbing my eyes to correct my blurred vision, I sat up on the uncomfortable, thinly cushioned metal bed in the infirmary ward of the lab. The lights were dim and giving off a loud buzzing noise. There was no one else but me around, not even Dr. McCoy. The digital clock on the wall read five-fifteen. The med lab was eerily quiet. It had to have been the morning. I didn't think I could've been out for more than fourteen hours because, aside from a bit of wooziness, I felt fine.

I slid my legs over the side of the bed. The sterile floor was cold under my bare feet. To keep from shivering, I closed the long, thick wool robe that I found had been placed over my bathing suit. If Rett and Bobby weren't here that meant they were okay, I deduced, and that was good news if I'd ever heard it. But where was Bobby? Where was Logan? I had been kicked out of the med lab the few times I'd had cause to visit him, but surely he could get them to let him stay. If he wanted.

I caught sight of a pair of long, black gloves, which were laid out on the table next to me. That was a message, loud and clear. My guilty conscience curdled in my stomach. I'd practically killed two people in one fell swoop, all in the name of getting a tan. And one of them had been just a kid. The only reason Rett had walked away was because he'd taken my power with him. I wished he'd just taken it altogether. I welcomed him to it. It was a useless mutation, anyway. Nothing good could ever come of it.

"Stupid goddamned gloves," I gritted through my teeth, pulling them on without finesse. My middle and index fingers were jammed together. I felt like growling.

Logan had touched me, I realized. Though the impatience was mine, I recognized the extreme reactions as his. When had he touched me? I must have been when I was unconscious. Maybe he'd put the robe on me. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. There was an impression of him there, stronger than it had been before. Alarm, sorrow, guilt, anger…It was nice to have him back in the forefront of my mind, but I hardly ever got any good emotions from people. It was overwhelming at first, but all I usually remembered was just what they were feeling when they touched me, a little of what they were thinking, and sometimes vague snapshots of memories.

Logan had been mad at me for being reckless, that much was clear. His anger was tempered by concern for my well-being. I allowed myself a moment to bask in the peculiar consolation his specter-like presence gave to me. Literally feeling the emotions of another human being is probably one of the most intimate contacts two people can have, yet it's not as fulfilling as you would think. There's power in the physical. Knowing he cared was one thing; having him there when I woke up was quite another. It was childish, but I needed a hug.

Subdued, I left the med lab and went out into the steel-encased hallway. I quickly got inside the elevator, impatient to escape from the cold, impersonal walls. Upstairs was warmth and wood and, as Bobby had said, home.

Tying the robe around me securely, I stepped out of the too-bright elevator and went in search of the only person whom I knew would be awake. I found him on the couch in the living room, listlessly watching a documentary on lemurs.

He must have felt me standing hesitantly in the doorframe because he commented, "Their mating call sounds like they're saying, 'She-fuck, she fuck!'"

"Jones," I choked out. I'd never heard him swear before.

"I'm not as innocent as everybody thinks," he informed me, switching stations with a blink of his eyes.

"If you say so," I replied, taking a seat on the far end of the couch.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked in his calm, level tone.

I shrugged, not surprised he'd heard about what had happened. Jones always knew the gossip. It was partially because he never slept and partially because he was so quiet that people tended to forget he was around. "What's the damage?" I asked him.

"Flea's mad that he's getting in trouble, so he's telling everyone that you went crazy and tried to kill Bobby and Rett. But only the really stupid people believe him. So most of the school thinks you're psycho."

I snorted. Jones sure knew the appropriate way to deliver bad news.

"I overheard Bobby talking to Hellion – that's what they're calling Julian Keller now, you know, since he rearranged Cyclops's classroom on the ceiling a couple days ago. Anyway, Bobby's really worried. He heard Professor Xavier say he wanted to talk to you first thing when you woke up. Have you talked to him yet? He gets up pretty early."

I shook my head. "You think he's mad?"

Professor Xavier, he with his telepathic abilities, chose that moment to wheel into the doorway. The touch of a smile that was on his lips didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not mad. Just disappointed. Nothing for you to runaway over. Come along, Rogue," he said, backing out. "There's something I wish to discuss with you."

Jones and I exchanged nervous looks. "Good luck," he mouthed.

Stomach curdling again, I followed Professor Xavier to his office. He had me close the door behind us and take a seat opposite his desk. I arranged the robe to cover me completely, wishing I'd taken the time to change. I kept my eyes on the wooden floorboards, hoping he could see from my thoughts that I really was sorry.

He sighed. I heard the creak of his chair as he leaned back. "Yes, I know you're sorry. I'm not going to punish you for yesterday's…incident. However, I am still very disappointed in you. I would've expected you to have exercised more caution. You're an intelligent young woman, Rogue. You shouldn't have been so careless."

I hunched forward in my seat, willing myself not to cry. I'd been disappointing people my whole life. My parents, Bobby. Myself.

Professor Xavier heaved another sigh. "Perhaps it's my fault."

I winced. For admitting me in the school, for trusting me to have good judgment, for letting someone as immature as me into the X-Men – there were so many ways he could go with that one.

"For expecting too much of you," he amended softly. "It's not that I don't trust your judgment or that I think you're immature. You've done remarkably well considering your particular mutation. I suppose it's unfair to begrudge you for wanting a day of normalcy, especially since I can see that you harbor so little hope. You've been at my school for months now, and I've offered you none. For that, I am sorry."

"But I…" I cut in, confused. "Storm – Ms. Munroe – She said that it didn't work like that, that you couldn't cure me."

Turning toward the window, he replied, "No, not cure. The idea that mutation is a disease to be gotten rid of is an idea that we must fight if we are ever going to be able to take our place as equal citizens of this world. Society isolates people with diseases, especially ones believed to be contagious."

"Like AIDS victims in China," I said, remembering the parallel brought up in current history last week.

"Yes. And even here in the United States, though it isn't as blatant." He turned his head back around, addressing me gravely. "I cannot cure you, Rogue, but what I can do to teach you to use your gift. In time, you might be able to control how much energy you take in and be able to let go at will."

"You mean stop it completely? So I could touch people?"

Professor Xavier hesitated. "Aside from general and pressing health concerns, like regulating medication, I do not typically allow research to be done on my students. I feel that it is neither necessary nor beneficial to them to be made to feel like laboratory mice. However, Dr. McCoy convinced me to make an exception in your case. I hope you can forgive me."

I nodded eagerly. Stick me in a maze and call me Squeakers; I'd have done anything to be free.

Again, he hesitated before continuing. "Whilst you were unconscious, I had Dr. McCoy take a generous skin sample from you. It was quite remarkable, what he found. You have two sets of pores. The standard type, of course, and a much smaller, much more numerous set directly on your epidermis. It is through those pores that you extract the life essence of the people you touch."

"Is it possible to close them?"

"I'm afraid they're always open and likely always will be. Your control will come, in time, with your ability to draw power in slower increments."

"There has to be something that can close those pores," I argued a little desperately. "A…I don't know, maybe a lotion. I know it probably couldn't be permanent, but it'd be something. Like Mr. Summers' glasses. They've got be annoying to wear, but at least he can see people with them. I wouldn't mind having to put on lotion all the time. I do it twice a day anyway."

"Rogue, I understand what you want, and I want very badly to give it to you, but there is no magic lotion. The ruby quartz of Scott's glasses was an once-in-a-lifetime find, which was, I have to admit, mostly pure luck. That isn't to say that Dr. McCoy won't continue to work with your skin samples – he is very interested in your gift – but he does have other matters to see to as well. As for learning control, it will be incorporated into your X-Man training, if you see fit for it to continue. It isn't my intention to rob you of your youth. If you'd prefer to wait a few more years before dedicating yourself to the team completely, I'd be glad to store your uniform for you in the interim."

But what else did I have now besides the X-Men?

"Training tomorrow same time as usual?" I asked, since today was Sunday.

Professor Xavier smiled a little, and it did reach is eyes. "Come here after your regular training with Logan in the Danger Room, and we'll discuss your experiences with your power."

"Yes, sir," I agreed, standing.

"Oh, and Rogue?" he said just as I opened the door. "Don't let me catch you wearing that bathing suit again. Despite what some of your classmates seem to think, we do have a dress code here."

I flushed. "Right, Professor. I'll go change."

"Not too much," he said softly, picking up my earlier train of thought, which led him to yesterday's incident. "You are an asset to this school and to the X-Men. Don't ever think otherwise." There was worry in his expression. He probably thought I was suicidal. I wasn't really. Sometimes it was just easier to wallow. "I have faith in you, Rogue. You're going to be just fine."

"Thank you, Professor."

I couldn't get out of his office fast enough. How was I an asset? I hadn't done anything. Well, I did stop John and pilot the Blackbird – God that was a horrible experience – but I hadn't done anything otherwise. Bobby could have done either of those things had I not been there. Bobby could do a lot of things if I wasn't there, come to that.

That thought ate away at me as I made my way down the silent corridors to my new room, infinitely grateful that it was mine and I didn't have to share it with four roommates. I collapsed backwards on the bed and stared up at the ceiling morosely. I had learned my lesson about wallowing, so I decided to brood – which is, as everyone knows, exactly the same thing, only brooding is for adults. Logan did it all the time.

So, the Professor wanted to help me control my powers so that I could be a more effective weapon. Well, if that didn't murder any hope for normalcy left in me, I didn't know what would. It was going to take time, he'd said, and I wasn't going to get the one thing I wanted out of it. Moreover, I didn't even think it would really work. All of us students had to take classes on controlling our powers. While Jubilee had been juggling sparklers and Bobby had been crafting elaborate ice sculptures, I'd been given a bunch of tapes that were supposedly to get me centered. They didn't help by any means, though at least I'd looked like I was participating instead of being left out.

People at the school sometimes went out of their way to make me feel included, even though it would've been easier just to ignore me. Professor Xavier was doing more of the same. Not that I wasn't grateful, on at least some level. One that was squished flat between exasperation and despair.

I decided then that, while I would go along with whatever Professor Xavier wanted me to do because I owed him, I would do it without emotion or hope. I just wanted my powers to be left alone. I didn't want the responsibility of living up to anyone's expectations anymore. I was untouchable girl. It was time I started acting like it.


	4. Honest Development, 4

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Should I Stay or Should I Go ~_

I lay there on my bed for some time, mulling over the same thoughts in slightly different orders. I found that I didn't like a lot of the motives behind what I did and who I was. There was an overwhelming need in me to figure myself out, starting with who I wanted to be. I asked myself that question, and an image of an unfazeable vixen with a smart-ass retort for everything came to mind. I pushed the image aside as too shallow and entirely too much like Mystique for comfort. I needed something deeper. Modesty and an unwillingness to look kept me from turning inward to find out if I already had things inside me that I liked. Instead, I looked to the people I admired to come up with traits I thought I was lacking.

I'd already been thinking about Bobby, so I started with him. His loyalty suggested itself instantly, loyalty both to me and his family. Twice a month he wrote them unreturned letters of forgiveness spoken through recounts of how much he was learning at the school and his continuing hope for a more peaceable reunion in the future. I'd yet to contact my own parents, or even to consider forgiving them. It wasn't because I hated them as much as it was because I didn't think of them. A clean wound heals quickest and hurts shortest and all that. What else in Bobby did I like? He was compassionate, Iceman nothing. Mostly I found that I was drawn to his balance. I felt sure that he'd never even partially consider considering suicide, no matter what happened. He knew who he was, what he stood for, and left the rest to sort out itself. I decided I loved him then, and realized at the same moment that I was going to have to breakup with him.

So, I had loyalty, compassion, and balance thus far. I remembered Dr. Grey and added selflessness and bravery. The other X-Men came to mind. Cyclops, I acknowledged, was just like Bobby only more so. I supposed I should tack responsible on both of them. Storm had grace and eloquence and, for someone who was practically a goddess, she was incredibly humble. Self-assured without being cocky.

Cocky naturally brought me to Logan. That arrogance, his tendency to waver, his cynicism, his slightly twisted sense of honor, his gruffness, his emotional deficiency – I didn't aspire to any of it, yet I loved it all because I was in love with him. My love didn't generate from idolization, nor did I love him just because he was the most dead-sexy man who ever walked the earth, counting young Paul Newman. It was because of the way I felt around him. There was an easy companionship between us, an understanding that came from being two imperfect people dropped into a world full of perfect heroes. I loved Logan the most of anybody I knew, unquestionably. It wasn't just as friends either, though I'd tried to make it so for Bobby's sake.

Not that I was breaking up with Bobby because I thought I could be with Logan. Far from it, actually. Even if I were a normal girl, I still wouldn't have harbored any anticipation of romance between us. But that particular reality didn't make a difference since fantasy was the only thing I could ever expect of anyone. In that regard, I'd always been cheating on Bobby. I'd enjoyed kissing him and making him want me – he was very cute guy, after all – but I'd have left him for Logan in a heartbeat if the unlikely opportunity had ever presented itself. Bobby deserved far better than me, that was for sure.

Idly, I tried to run my fingers through my hair but the tangles prevented it. I flipped the ends up to my nose and smelt chlorine. Making a face, I hauled myself out of bed and into the attached bathroom. My own bathroom. Ah, the luxuries I had taken for granted in my youth. Not all of Xavier's college-age students got their own bedrooms and baths, just Bobby and me. Yet another perk of being X-Men.

Flicking on the light switch, I stepped up to the sink and stared at myself wide-eyed in the mirror. Good God, I'd walked around the school looking like this? My hair was practically in dreadlocks and I looked even paler than I did before I'd attempted to lay out yesterday. Cruel, cruel irony.

My energy was revitalized after I brushed my teeth thoroughly and took a long, hot shower. Now that I was clean, I felt much better prepared to face my judgmental classmates at breakfast. I was determined not to look the part of would-be psycho murderess. I dried my hair and decided to curl it instead of straightening it. I figured loose Shirley Temple ringlets were about as threatening as a blind puppy.

Out of habit, I took my daily pill. It was redundant for me to be on birth control, admittedly, but most of the girls at the school were on it regardless of sexual activity. Because there was no way to know how each mutant would react to any given drug, the school regulated all the medication we took, from insulin for diabetics to the occasional aspirin. Birth control was offered on a wide basis to avoid complications and embarrassment. The drawback, of course, was that we had to listen to umpteen speeches on STDs and teen pregnancy. The extra drawback for me were the snickers I'd gotten from the other girls the first time the idea was introduced. Rogue needing birth control? Whatever for?

In response to that, Jubilee had elbowed me in the ribs jovially, saying, "It's in case of immaculate conception, right Rogue?"

"Actually," Kitty had broken in, "The idea of immaculate conception has nothing to do with the virgin birth. It's an entirely different doctrine based on the idea that Mary herself was born exempt from original sin." Kitty had smiled at our surprised looks. "You can be Jewish and still attend a Catholic grade school," she'd explained simply.

It was a damned good thing that not very many people knew my real name or I probably would've spent the rest of my high school experience being called the Virgin Marie. That was one thing to be thankful for.

I applied just a little bit of makeup and then went to my closet to find an outfit that was just as muted. This turned out to be a much more difficult task than I had anticipated. I had an abundance of cute clothes and the winter-fall stuff wasn't too bad, but my summer wardrobe was scarily devoid of class. That fact was not totally my fault as my last few shopping excursions had been under the influence of Jubilee and Kitty. With their help, my predominantly black wardrobe had been supplemented with pastels and lots and lots of yellow. Bright yellow. How had I allowed this to happen?

It was clear that I needed a new look. I had outgrown my quasi-Goth, quasi-hooker stage, I couldn't pull off preppy with my unusual hair color, and there was only so much yellow one school could take. A trip to the mall was the only reasonable course of action for me, even though I'd already spent my generous monthly allowance. Where Professor Xavier got all his money, I could only guess. Perhaps his extra-secret power was the ability to turn blades of grass into one hundred dollar bills.

Thankfully, I found that a lot of my new clothes still had their tags on them because I hadn't been daring enough to take my look to that new level of skimpy while school had actually been in session. Resolving to return them, I separated the tagged items out and tossed them on my bed. Still not satisfied, I added some more stuff that I thought I could sell at one of those second-hand boutiques. Remorselessly, I tossed my former favorite shirt – a long sleeved, gauzy number that left nothing to the imagination – on the top of the pile, and surveyed it with satisfaction. As soon as I made some stops, I would have enough money for my purposes and more.

I took off my robe and got dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a red Clash t-shirt that had a normal neckline and showed only a little bit of skin between the sleeves and the top of my gloves, which I exchanged for white ones to match the lettering. Simple, neat, and safe without turning me into a formless old biddy. Perfect. I pulled out a pair of tennis shoes and was tying them when I heard a knock on my door. I knew it was Bobby the way I would have known if it had been Logan, or David or Magneto for that matter. I just did.

"Come in," I called, trying not to sound nervous and failing.

The door opened and Bobby came in with a forced cheerful smile on his face. The smile disappeared when he registered the clothes on my bed. "You're not leaving," he stated, his voice angry and surprised.

I shook my head in agreement. "I'm just doing some prioritizing."

Jamming his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans, he replied, "Good."

There was an awkward silence between us. I knew why I was anxious, his reasons weren't so obvious.

"So, I was headed down to the med lab to see you, but I ran into the Professor at the elevator and told me you were here."

"Yeah, I woke up a few hours ago." It was now after eight-thirty.

"How're you feeling?"

"Fine," I said quickly. "I'm fine. How're you? Did I…Are you okay?"

"Yeah. A little bit of a headache – not even a headache. Just a little, uh, pressure. You know."

"Did you talk to Rett? Is he okay?"

"He wasn't out for very long, maybe fifteen minutes"

"No unwelcome side-effects or anything?"

Bobby shrugged. "He was playing basketball after dinner last night, so I'd say he was just fine."

The formality wearing me out, I collapsed on the edge of the bed. "Bobby, I'm sorry."

"Hey, no," he said, quickly coming to sit next to me. "I'm not mad at you. The Professor told me you'd want your space, is all. It's okay."

I leaned on his shoulder and let him stroke my hair, needing to be comforted. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I was too afraid he'd say he loved me back. Breaking up with him was already going to be hard enough without having to convince him that he didn't really love me like that.

The selfish part of me wanted to forget my resolution and let him keep being my boyfriend. By playing the "poor Rogue" card, I could've easily bound him to me permanently. Had I wrenched out a few tears and told him that I loved him, that would've been it. Bobby and Rogue forever.

"Let's get some breakfast before the cafeteria closes," I suggested, standing.

"All right," he agreed, and took my gloved hand in his.

"You're too good for me, Bobby."

He winked and kissed the satin over my knuckles. "Nah. I'm perfect for you."

I almost protested, but we were already out into the hallway and I wasn't about to break up with him in public. It was going to be bad enough for his reputation anyway.

I knew reputations and superficial preoccupations like that shouldn't matter, but I was still concerned. Maybe I'd tell everyone he broke up with me. No, I couldn't do that because then all the girls would think he was a jerk and wouldn't go out with him. And, since drama was the preference, no one was going to believe it was mutual. This was already complicated and I hadn't even done it yet.

The cafeteria was really a huge dining room set up with five long, elegant tables. It was never a problem that there were more students than chairs because everyone ate whenever they pleased during the designated time periods. Bobby and I went down at the last-minute breakfast rush, the most crowded time of day, even with over a third of the student body home for break. That proportion was much less than it would've been at a normal prep school since a lot of our kids were orphans, runaways, or family outcasts.

Coming from backgrounds such as those, it would've made sense for them to be a little more understanding. Unfortunately, junior high-aged kids made up the highest percentile of the student body. They found my existence intriguing in that two-headed-fetus-in-a-jar kind of way and never lost an opportunity to talk about me in undertones, whether the subject be speculation over my mutation or the Statue of Liberty incident, which had become the stuff of legend. According to Jones, every now and again when the rumor mill was churning too slowly someone would bring up the night Logan had accidentally stabbed me and I'd revealed my mutation to my peers for the first time. That part was considered only mildly interesting compared to the biggest mystery of them all – why I'd been alone with Logan in his room that late at night in the first place. Ooh, scandal.

Junior high kids. God forgive me for having ever been one of them.

"You wanna grab something and take it outside? It looks pretty nice out," Bobby proposed as we got into line. The three girls in front of us were giving each other significant looks and listening in to our conversation without discretion. Bobby was as aware of that fact as I was.

"Sure," I responded, selecting an apple and then a bagel, adding to it a generous dollop of cream cheese.

It was rather disconcerting to be stared at by so many people, whether blatantly or not, so Bobby and I made it through the line as quickly and as nonchalantly possible and took our trays outside to what was really the garden, but we called it the park because it was so massive. We managed to snag the picnic table under the big tree, where we could have relative privacy. At Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, privacy in personal matters was always relative.

Bobby peeled the plastic lid off of his cereal and ate it dry, with a spoon. That never ceased to amaze me. "Jubes and Kitty wanted me to say hi to for them," he told me, scooping up another spoonful of Cheerios. They weren't even Apple Cinnamon or Honey Nut, they were just the plain ones. What was the point?

"I thought they weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"They called me this morning. Freaking six o'clock in the morning to tell me that they were up and about ready to go shopping with Kitty's mom. Am I a woman? Honestly. Why would they think I cared? They should've called you."

"I wasn't stupid enough to give them my extension number."

"Smart girl."

"Very true. What'd they say?"

Bobby shrugged. "Chicago is great, they're having a great time, the usual stuff. I guess they saw somebody or other famous."

"In Chicago? I had no idea famous people hung out in Chicago. Who was it?"

"Baseball player for the Cubs, I think. I didn't catch the name. In case you forgot, it was six a.m. Six a.m. Oh, and then, after Kitty repeated everything Jubilee told her to tell me, Jubes would not let her hang up, even thought she didn't have anything else to say. So it was just dead silence until Jubilee finally grabbed the phone from her and told me to go back to sleep. Girls are strange. Excluding you."

I feigned bafflement, but in reality I knew exactly what had occurred. It had been obvious to me from day one that Kitty had had a crush on Bobby for the longest time but hadn't done anything about it, despite Jubilee's insistent prodding. When Bobby and I'd started dating, Kitty backed off, probably more relieved that anything else because Jubilee stopped nagging, for a while at least.

Jubilee, though always friendly toward me, still designated Bobby as Kitty's. She thought that Kitty should have him even if it meant getting him to cheat on me. And if that hurt me, well, that was an unfortunate side effect, and one I deserved for stepping in on Jubilation Lee's best friend's territory. When I'd first figured that out, I'd been mistrustful of Jubilee, but then I'd realized that she was probably one of the most honest people I'd ever met. She was even more honest than Bobby, because she was as true to her weaknesses as she was to her strengths.

Before, I'd considered the Kitty situation a little trying, though I'd felt sorry for her. Now that I was breaking up with Bobby, I decided that she was perfect for him because they were really in love with each other and I was the only thing holding them back. Now, did I really and truly believe that? Maybe.

"Do you like Kitty?" I asked, twirling the stem of my apple.

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "I don't really know her all that well and you sounded kind of annoyed that she didn't have anything to say to for herself."

"Well, that's not her fault. Jubes was putting her on the spot. When Kitty wants to talk she has a lot to say, and usually she's funny. Not uproariously funny or anything. It's kind of subtle. It's nice."

I smiled to myself as I cut the apple with my plastic butter knife. "I never thought she was all that shy. She talked to me the first class we had together. She asked me to sit with her and Jubes and everything."

"That's Kitty for you. She'd rather be uncomfortable herself than let someone else be uncomfortable."

"Sounds like you two know each other really well," I grinned, thinking that this was going to be easier than I had thought. There weren't going to be any hard feelings after this breakup.

"Oh, yeah. We came to the school at the same time. She's kind of like my sister."

Damn.

"But – but don't you think she's pretty?"

"I guess so," he replied, confused.

"What is this obsession with putting sibling labels on friends of the opposite sex? It just makes everything more difficult. You are not Kitty's brother, not even by a chromosome. And, mentally speaking, I'm one hundred percent positive that she does not think of you like a brother. Nor should you think of her like a sister. She's not."

Bobby stabbed at his cereal with his spoon. "Like Logan's not your big brother or uncle or whatever."

I almost said, "Exactly," but I caught myself. "We're not talking about Logan."

"But it's true. You don't think of him like that."

"Bobby," I said softly, "This is about you and me. This has nothing to do with him."

"Everything you do has something to do with him."

"Not this."

"Oh, no. This is about you trying to pawn me off on Kitty. I like Kitty, Rogue, I do. But I'm with you and you're not going to scare me away. We've been through too much together."

"I don't want to scare you away. I don't want you to go anywhere. Stay right here. Just…take away the label. I can't be anyone's girlfriend, Bobby. The only difference between girlfriend and friend is physical, and I can't give that to you. Not now, not ever."

"You're giving up? You can't give up. Yesterday was a fluke. It got out of hand. It won't happen again."

"I gave up a long time ago. And yesterday wasn't a fluke. It was my fault. I'm not normal."

"Who's normal? This is Mutant High. We're all not normal. It wasn't your fault. It was my fault. It was those stupid kids's faults."

"No. It's my mutation and my responsibility. You can't be my boyfriend anymore. I love you and you're one of the only friends I have, so I don't want to loose you. All that'll be different is that you can't kiss me anymore. I'm sure you won't miss the migraines."

"They're not that bad," he said forlornly. Then, "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Yes." I forced a small smile. "But if my condition changes, you'll be the first to know, okay?"

He smiled a little too. "No I won't. Logan will be first."

"Why would you say that?"

"Come on, Rogue. You slept with the man's dog tags around your wrist every night for a month."

I looked at him incredulously, wondering how he'd come by that information. I'd hid them carefully from my roommates. I was sure that if they'd found out they would've said something.

"You gave them back to him with me in the car, remember? It wasn't too hard to figure out why you happened to have them on you in the middle of the night."

My shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I don't know why you put up with me. You are too good for me. I was serious about that. You deserve better."

"Apparently, I deserve a lot worse if you won't have me."

When reason doesn't work, go for anger. I shoved myself out from the picnic table. "Shut up. Just because I'm too stupid to fall in love with you doesn't mean you're not worthy of me or whatever else you think. I'm a mess. You have no idea what it's like inside my head. So why don't you just start thinking of me as your sister and give poor Kitty a break. You'd both be a lot happier. You don't need me, Bobby. I need you. Why can't you understand that?" I shook my head. "You know what? Whatever. I'll talk to you later." With that, I stomped off, enjoying my righteous indignation. It was warm.


	5. Honest Development, 5

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Outsider ~_

The rest of the day was spent wandering around the grounds, people watching. I'd done a lot of people watching in the off-and-on eight months I'd been on the road alone. Out of necessity, I'd become a good judge of character. Within ten minutes of walking into a bar I could usually tell which drivers were safe to ask for rides and which ones I needed to steer clear of altogether. Of course, my judgment wasn't flawless. I'd been proven wrong more than once.

After a while, I grew tired, so I found a comfortable niche for myself near the busiest section of the park. If anyone saw me through the leaves I'm sure I must've looked strange sitting in that tree, which I had long ago dubbed my thinking tree. It gave them something else to discuss about me at least.

From my perch, I had a perfect view of the basketball court where the boys from yesterday were setting up a game of two-on-two. I was close enough to hear their conversation.

"All right," Flea said, "Me and Streak versus Artie and Rett. Powers allowed."

Artie shook his head in response to that.

"Aw, don't be such a pussy. We can use powers."

Artie relented with a shrug, taking the basketball from Flea and checking it to him. Mockingly, Artie stuck out his blue, forked tongue.

"Keep it in your mouth, Maddicks. No one wants to see that," Flea responded, bouncing the ball back.

Dribbling slowly in place, Artie kept his focus on Flea. Artie's face was in profile, but there was no missing the orange-yellow glow that his eyes were emitting. About to lunge for the steal, Flea stopped dead in his tracks. Artie made a break for the hoop, easily weaving around his unusually still opponent. Since Streak and Rett were busy gawking, the lane was wide open for Artie to sink an easy lay-up. Artie pumped on fist in the air to congratulate himself. He brought his arm down suddenly, pain scrunching up his face. When he opened his eyes again, the glow was gone.

Soon after, Flea was able to shake off his temporary paralysis. He pressed his palm to his forehead and rubbed it hard. "Ow, man. I forgot you could do that. No more. Damn."

Artie, who had been massaging his own forehead, nodded in agreement.

"Do we still get the points?" Rett asked, speaking up for the first time.

Two fingers was Artie's voice of concurrence.

"Yeah, all right, you can have the points. But you only got them 'cause Streak's worthless."

"Hey, screw you. I forgot, too." Glaring, Streak grabbed the ball from Artie and went to the top of the key to take it out, Rett guarding him.

"Whatever, dude. Let's just win this." Flea backpedaled toward the basket, Artie right with him.

Streak forcefully passed the ball to an empty spot behind Rett. Streak used his power – I didn't know what it was, super speed or teleportation – and ended up at the exact angle to stop his own pass. Flea broke away from Artie, and Streak threw him the ball. Flea jumped, did a back flip, and dunked the ball in the hoop. Upon landing, he bounced into a one-armed handstand, then from it to a front flip. I'd seen gymnastic moves before, but that was just not natural. No normal human could've done it. Despite my annoyance at Flea, I found myself impressed.

Artie gave a fake yawn.

"I believe this is yours," Flea said cordially, picking up the ball and handing it off to Artie.

Dribbling up a little ways, Artie put his arms to set up for an overhead pass. Flea knocked the ball out of his hands. Streak was there in a heartbeat. But before he could get a handle on the ball, Rett appeared beside him. He pushed Streak out of the way with his shoulder and got the ball. He dribbled it to the basket with no opposition, as the other three boys had taken up gawking again. Rett banked an easy shot and did two back flips in celebration.

"Dude," Flea said finally. "How many powers do you have?"

That's what I wanted to know. I made a mental note to ask the Professor.

Below me, someone sneezed loudly.

"Bless you," I said automatically, looking down through the branches at the girl who'd sat down at the foot of the tree without me noticing. She was probably around Rett's age and probably just as new.

"Thank you," she replied. Then went back to writing in the open notebook on her lap, not paying me anymore heed. Fine with me. I didn't really feel like talking to anyone.

I turned my attention back to the boys in time to see Storm reach them. "You have detentions to serve," she informed the boys, arms crossed over her chest.

"I did not do it," Flea proclaimed. "It was all Rett."

Rett seemed hurt by Flea's casual disloyalty. I could almost remember – something about the school before and an art project. They'd said he'd copied, but it hadn't been intentional…The stolen memory was gone before I could really see it. I allowed it to slip out of my awareness without protest. Some things just weren't any of my business.

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Travis. I know you put him up to it. You're lucky you're all getting the same punishment instead of yours being worse. Let's go. Dan, pick up the basketball and put it away. Thank you." Storm turned around and led the boys inside. I couldn't help smirking at Flea's scowl. Served him right.

The girl tilted her head back. "Why are you so happy he's getting in trouble?"

"Pardon?"

"That boy. He's really mad and you're happy about it. How come?"

"Uh. Well. The reason he's getting into trouble is because he was being a jerk to me, so, you know."

"Oh. Okay. I was just wondering."

I wasn't finished with the conversation. "You couldn't see me from down there. How'd you know I was happy about it?"

She shrugged. "I can always tell what other people are feeling."

"You're new, right?"

"Yes. I was supposed to start next semester, but my mom is on her honeymoon, so she and my stepdad sent me here early instead of leaving me with a nanny," she answered matter-of-factly.

"I see. What's your name?"

"Nicole Reis-Steeves."

"I'm Rogue."

"Is it okay if I sit down here? I know you want to be alone. I won't bother you."

Leaning back, I replied, "Be my guest. It's not my tree," even though I thought of it as mine.

"Thank you."

True to her word, Nicole didn't say anything to me the whole time she and I were out there. I didn't keep track of the time or my thoughts, really. Nor did I stir until my stomach growled to inform me it was dinnertime. Joints popping, I stood up on the branch and carefully made my way to the ground.

Stretching some more, I told Nicole, "I'm going to get some dinner. Wanna come?"

Nicole shook her head, saying, "I'm not hungry right now. But thank you for inviting me."

"You're welcome," I replied somewhat formally. "See you around."

"I hope you feel better," she called after me.

Knowing a little about suffering other people's emotions myself, I felt bad about having subjected her to my own. It was refreshing to meet someone in that junior high age range who was both incredibly polite and amazingly sympathetic. Had I been in her position, I probably would've thrown my shoe up at her and told her to get over herself.

Other people's self-pity is always annoying. For her sake and my own, I resolved to be done with that and start over with optimism. I was giving myself way too much credit if I thought that every single kid at the school invested the amount energy it would take to actually hate me. Talk about me behind my back? Certainly. Hate me? Shun me? That was narcissistic masochism rearing its two ugly heads. It wasn't realistic.

To test that theory, once I got my dinner I headed over to a table of a group of girls about my age. "Hi, Sierra," I said to the blond one who'd been my lab partner a couple times in chemistry. "Is this seat taken?"

Sierra glanced at her friends quizzically, saying, "No, go ahead."

Smiling my gratitude, I took the chair beside her. I ate quickly while they discussed how slutty Tara Fawver had become. I had only the vaguest clue who Tara Fawver was, but I made the appropriate faces and laughed at the appropriate times anyway. Eventually they found out that I hadn't heard what had happened last week. They were delighted, as it meant that they could tell me themselves.

"Oh my God, it was so funny," the one who'd told me she turned seventeen tomorrow gushed. "So, me, Sierra, and Tiff were just walking to the library 'cause I had a book that was, like, a month overdue, right? Anyway, we hear this noise – "

"This moaning noise," Sierra snickered.

"Yeah, hardcore moaning. So we stop, no idea where it was coming from. That exact moment, Cyclops turns his fine ass down that same hallway and hears that same noise. He asked us what it was but we were all like, 'How should we know?' Finally, he hits what we thought was just a wall and it slides open. There was Tara Fawver full-on going down on Jesus Christ."

"On who?"

"Jesus. You know, JC, Jake Coolidge. The guy who can walk on water?"

"Oh, I get it. Isn't that blasphemy?"

"Probably. Anyway. So, yeah. Cyclops was pissed. Pissed. You know how he's been since Dr. Grey died and everything."

"Mel, you forgot the best part," Tiffany put in.

"Getting there." Mel snickered and leaned across the table closer to me, "JC's dick? Thirteen inches long. I kid you not."

"No way," I said.

"I'm serious. The thing was monstrous. Tara is such a size queen. It must've taken him two minutes, tops, to convince her to do him practically in the hallway. What a skank. They're not even dating. Supposedly she still has a boyfriend back in Whoresville or wherever she's from."

The hypocrisy innate in the fact that I, the same girl who'd been feeling sorry for herself all day because her classmates were spreading rumors about her, was now bonding with said classmates over the vicious slander of another's integrity was not lost on me. Taking my last bite of chicken, I wiped my mouth on my napkin and stood up before they could come up with another charming anecdote to share. Part of me was interested in Tara's sexual escapades just for the shock value. I wasn't too impressed with myself for that.

"Thanks for letting me sit here, but I gotta get going."

"Oh, okay. See you later, Rogue."

While not a total disaster, I was not looking forward to sharing my meals with them again. Beggars can't be choosers, so I was glad Kitty and Jubilee were getting back tomorrow afternoon. When they resorted to gossip for conversation, at least they were shrewd about it.

But, hey, at least I'd proven that the world doesn't in fact revolve around me. Good thing to figure out, if you actually want to realistically live it in.


	6. Honest Development, 6

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Train in Vain ~_

Since I usually hung out with Logan after dinner, I didn't have to stop to think about where I was going; I just headed right to the teacher's lounge. Logan wasn't officially a professor, especially not of art. He was part security guard, part hall monitor. Mostly, he monopolized the Danger Room and watched TV. Exciting life. It was, however, infinitely better than that tiny camper he'd been living out of before he met me. I liked to take some credit for the fact that he was now living in a mansion. After all, it had been me Sabretooth was after in the first place. Logan had just been along for the ride.

Without regard to decorum, I pushed open the door to the lounge and walked right in. Students weren't normally allowed in there, but I had made myself the exception to that rule the minute Logan had returned from Canada. Logan and Cyclops were the only ones inside. They were drinking contraband beer and playing pool. The room smelled like cigar smoke, but that was all Logan's doing. From behind his red-tinted glasses, Cyclops fixed me with a stare that made me wish I'd knocked or something. I always got the feeling that there was something about me he didn't quite approve of.

Logan glanced up from his shot and gave me a half-smile. "Hey, kid. Give me a minute to put ole One-Eye here out of his misery, and you and me can play."

I shut the door behind me and came into the room, not bothering to take a seat since there was only one ball left on the table. Logan effortlessly banked the eight ball into the designated corner pocket. Straightening, he shot me a wink and then turned to Cyclops. "That'll be fifty bucks. Sorry, bub."

Smirking, Cyclops pulled his wallet out of his khakis. "It's all right. I know you can't afford it. Doesn't bother me a bit." He tossed the bills on the table. "Buy yourself something pretty." He stalked off, acknowledging me with a curt nod at me as he went by.

"Ooh," I said when was gone. "Who knew such an attitude could be found under that straight-laced façade?"

"How does your head feel?"

"Fine," I replied, not expecting that question.

"You had a pretty nasty bump yesterday."

I understood now. "Logan, thanks for helping me, but you need to quit doing that. I could hurt you."

Logan paid no attention to my warning. "Where've you been all day?" he asked, putting out his cigar in the ashtray Professor Xavier had demanded he use or stop smoking altogether, probably figuring that if he couldn't tame Logan he could at least see that he was housebroken.

"Around," I replied, moving over to edge of the table. I tossed the empty glass beer bottle Cyclops had left behind in the trash and picked up the pool cue. "Do you wanna break?"

"Nah, you can do it," Logan replied, setting up the balls at the other end. "So what were you doing around?" he inquired.

"Not much. Just thinking."

"About yesterday?"

"Yeah, and about Bobby. I broke up with him."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

Shrugging, I set up for the break. In spite of my half-realized intention to use Bobby to make Logan jealous, Logan had genuinely come to like Bobby, at least as much as he liked anyone. Tolerate was probably a better word. "It was time. We weren't getting anywhere. It's better for us just to be friends." My break knocked in the five ball.

"Is it," Logan challenged as I came around to his side for a follow-up shot.

"Yes, it is."

"And I suppose you're using your skin as an excuse."

"Not an excuse, really. More like the whole reason."

"You know, there are…creative ways to get around that little problem."

"Creative ways," I repeated sardonically. "Are there? Pray, do tell. It sounds like you've thought about it more than I have."

"Rogue," he said darkly, causing me to miss.

"You brought it up," I replied defensively. I went over to lean against the wall. Logan was a master pool shark. When he got going, he didn't stop. It was pretty much guaranteed now that I was going to lose this game.

"If you've thought about it, then you probably realize that it is possible."

"You're right. What am I thinking? Let me borrow that fifty bucks so I can go to an S&M shop and pick up a dominatrix outfit and a deluxe box of condoms right now. I don't have my dignity or anything."

He fixed me with an impatient look.

Meeting his gaze straight on, I admitted softly, "I don't want to have to get around anything. I want it to be natural, like everybody else."

His face softened. "I know you do, kid. I know it. But if you go through life taking all or nothing, you're gonna miss out on a lot."

"I don't care. I'm not missing anything if I have to compromise what I really want in order to get something not as good."

"Whatever you say, kid."

There was a particular emphasis on the way he said kid. Normally, I was happy that he called me kid because it sounded to me a lot like a term of endearment. I even used to get jealous when he used it on other people. I didn't like it so much that time. It was patronizing, what with all the growing up I'd done that day.

"It is whatever I say. It's my life. Look, I'm pretty tired. Rain check?"

I couldn't remember ever having willingly cut my time with Logan short, and neither could he if the expression on his face was any indication. I walked out on him. First time for everything.

The only problem was, I really wasn't tired and now I had nothing to do but more wandering. Luckily, my attention was caught right away. Since school wasn't in session, I'd expected the classrooms to be totally empty.

That's why I was curious enough to investigate the unfamiliar music coming from one of them. The door was partially ajar, so I peaked through the crack. I smiled to myself upon seeing Kurt sitting at his desk reading, his tail swaying along to the music.

He glanced up and saw me in the doorway. "Guten Abend," he welcomed shyly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I heard the music out in the hallway. It's beautiful. What is it?"

"Gregorian chant. This is Hildegard von Bingen's 'Antiphons for Saint Ursula.'"

"Oh," I remarked, because that meant nothing to me.

"Would you like to sit down? Have some hot cocoa with me, perhaps?" he offered.

"Thank you," I accepted happily, pulling up a chair to his desk.

"One moment, please," he said, disappearing into the door behind his desk. I didn't look in after him, not wanting to be rude, but I assumed his room was back there, which made sense because I'd never seen him down any other hallway. In fact, I'd rarely ever seen him at all.

"Ah, there we are," he said, coming out with two steaming mugs. He put them down and settled back into his chair. "It is a warm night, but I like the taste too much to care," he smiled.

"Me too," I agreed heartily after taking a sip.

"Are you enjoying your break, Rogue?"

He stumbled on my name and, for some reason, I told him, "That's what a lot of people call me, but my real name is Anna Marie. Anna Marie D'Ancanto." The words felt strange on my tongue. I hadn't introduced myself that way in the longest time.

"Anna Marie is a very pretty name," he commented. The way he said it was pure comfort, like when my momma would wake me from a nightmare.

"You can call me Anna Marie, if you'd like, Mr. Wagner."

"I would like that very much," he replied, sounding flattered. "But, please, for you I am simply Kurt. So, are you enjoying your break then, Anna Marie?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's been great. Except, yesterday I had sort of an accident." Concern was evident in his yellow eyes. "No one got hurt. At least, not permanently. It's my skin. I don't know if anyone told you, but when people touch me, I absorb their energy and powers and stuff. A couple of younger boys decided to put it to the test. I guess they thought messing with me would be funny or something."

"Not boys from this school, surely?"

"They were. Travis Ryan and a few others."

"I know him," Kurt said rather sadly.

Delicately, I asked, "Has he bothered you, too?"

"It was more the other way around. I heard he was a good gymnast and I'm a bit of an acrobat myself – I was in the Munich Circus, you know."

"The Incredible Nightcrawler."

"Ja." He sipped his cocoa absentmindedly, as if he were reflecting back on fond memories. After a moment, his focus turned outward again. "Well, I thought that since he and I had something in common, that he would like to see some of the things I can do." His eyelids drooped. "I scared him."

I didn't have to say anything to convey my sympathy. It was enough that we were alike.

"So, what kind of things can you do?" I asked eventually.

"Oh, many kinds. I learned a great deal at the circus."

I cringed inwardly, thinking that being a mutant circus performer would be degrading. "Did you like it there?" I asked, wondering how he could have.

"Ach ja, sehr viel. It was one of the best times of my life. The people who came to the shows, they cared what I looked like at first, but then once I did my act they stood up and applauded."

Kurt entertained me with stories from his circus days for the rest of the night, not stopping until I couldn't hold my yawns in any longer.

"I've lost track of time. It's late. You should go get your rest."

"But you didn't finish. What happened with Fräulein Hure?"

Kurt was sheepish. "Perhaps it's best that I didn't finish that story. Off you go to bed now."

"Can I come back sometime?"

"Whenever you like."

"Goodnight, then."

"Gute Nacht, Anna Marie."

I left Kurt's classroom feeling infinitely less stressed than I had coming in.


	7. Honest Development, 7

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Too Tough to Die ~_

The next day, I met Logan at the entrance to the Danger Room at one o'clock like I always did when school wasn't in session. His arms were crossed squarely across his chest and his stance was none too inviting.

"Hey."

I noted that he'd left off the kid. I took that as a white flag. My, "Hey, yourself," was cheerful.

The thick, circular door slid apart to let Bobby and Cyclops through. They were done exactly on time, as per usual. Cyclops was a stickler for those kinds of things. I was glad he wasn't my trainer.

"Got her warmed up for me, Scooter?" Logan asked.

"No, just tired her out," Cyclops replied, barely stopping.

Bobby gave me a fleeting look, but kept on walking. I had to say something.

"Hey, Bobby, wait."

He paused to turn around.

"Jubes, Kitty, and me are going to the mall later. Do you want to come with us? I have very specific things I need to buy, and I'm going to need some help to keep them on track."

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, walking backwards. "When?"

"Meet us in the game room at, like, three-thirty."

"Will do." He grinned, his blue eyes warming over. "Hey, Cinnabun's on me."

"As if I'd pay," I scoffed.

"Heh, right. Later, Rogue."

"Later." Grinning like a moron, I followed Logan into the Danger Room.

"Not exactly nursing a broken heart is he," Logan remarked.

Evenly, I replied, "I wouldn't want him to be."

I began stretching out, my arms especially. My shoulder adjusted itself audibly. "Oh, that felt good." Logan tilted his head and cracked the vertebrae in his neck. We were probably two of the few people in the world who kind of enjoyed the sound of bones popping.

"I'm ready," I said once I'd made sure my shoelaces were tied and my hair was secure back in a ponytail.

"Get one of those light guns," he told me. I did so, even though I was disappointed. I liked the one-on-one physical stuff better. Who could say why?

Since my power was pretty worthless in battle, Logan trained me in hand-to-hand combat and gunmanship. From Stryker, the Professor had gotten the idea of using tranquilizer guns, as they were quick, bloodless, and equally effective on humans as they were on most mutants. I was getting to be a pretty good shot.

Logan went into the control room to set up a hologram of targets. When I blasted them all down, he adjusted the hologram so that they seemed further away.

"Make them move or something. This is too easy," I complained.

He complied. I mastered three more levels before he said through the intercom, "That's enough. The Professor's waiting."

Logan was possibly more anxious about the upcoming meeting than I was, which made a certain amount of sense as it was going to be he who was risking his life by letting me test my power on him. That made me all kinds of nervous, but I forced myself to trust that Professor Xavier knew what he was doing.

I put my windbreaker jacket back on over my long-sleeved spandex top, glad I hadn't broken much of a sweat. As we headed up to the Professor's office, I watched Logan out of the corner of my eye. I was pleased he was going to be the one to help me with this, not just because of his handy regenerative capabilities. Whoever was going to be doing this with me was going to end up occupying a large portion of the guestroom in my mind. Plus, it meant that I was going to get to touch him. I should've been so happy about that considering my touch was his pain.

"Hello," Professor Xavier greeted us when Logan opened the door. "Please, take a seat. I've just got one more paragraph I want to finish."

He was reading a thick novel, the cover of which was white and red with black print. Sitting, I tilted my head so I could read the title. Science fiction.

"No, no," the Professor said, putting his bookmark in place. "You're thinking of H.G. Wells' _The Invisible Man_. This is _Invisible Man_ by Ralph Ellison. Ellison's protagonist is socially invisible, not physically. It is an extremely enlightening book. I recommend it highly." Logan and I stared at him, only one of us out of rudeness. The Professor stapled his fingers together. "Right, yes. On with the reason we're here."

Logan relaxed into the chair, putting his booted feet on the edge of Professor Xavier's desk. Logan was lucky he was such a good fighter. The Professor might not have put up with him so well otherwise.

"Before we start, can I ask you a question?" I asked the Professor.

"Ah, yes. You want to know about Everett. Everett has the unusual ability to duplicate other mutants' powers for a short while, just by seeing them in action. That's how he was able to turn your powers on you, and how he escaped from harm."

Oh, so like my power only constructive. Lucky.

"Everett's gift has its own troubles, just as yours does. No mutation is perfect. I know that you weren't too impressed with my offer of control," the Professor said, making me shift guiltily in my chair. "However, I do believe that this is an attainable and worthwhile goal. In fact, my theory is that it's a natural progression, already taking place. With the appropriate measures, it is my hope that we will be able to speed up process."

"How can you say I have control? Look what happened yesterday."

"There are several factors in that case very unlike the prior progress you've made. Before you say anything more, try and humor me for a moment. Think back to all the people you've touched since your mutation manifested itself. Think about how long you touched them and what effects it had on them. Can you remember?"

I nodded.

"Good. Walk us through it, Rogue. Then you'll see the pattern."

I took a deep breath. "David was the first. We kissed. My first kiss. It wasn't long. Maybe five seconds. He spent three weeks in a coma. I didn't let anyone touch me after that because I knew that it'd been my fault, even though I didn't really know what'd happened. Anyway, when he started school again, David told everyone what I'd done to him, so people weren't exactly lining up to touch me. I thought it'd be okay. Then my momma – She didn't really want to believe that there was anything wrong with me, so she'd try to touch me sometimes. I woke up one night and she was touching my cheek. She fainted. She was out all night. A couple days later, my parents sent me upstate to this clinic called Southaven."

Logan's rapt attention was making me nervous. The Professor knew all this information, of course, but it was news to Logan. Our pasts were virtually unexplored territories.

"It was pretty awful, like crisis counseling meets juvenile detention center. I ran away twice. The first time, I barely made it out of town. Second time, I knocked out one of the security guards, Eugene Macomb. I got caught in LA and shipped back. The other kids started calling me Rogue after that. Being around them wasn't so bad. One girl, Paige Guthrie, we called her Husk because she could shed her skin and make it turn into stuff like rock. Anyway, we thought maybe if I touched her and could take her power I could shed my skin and be able to touch people or something. Didn't work, obviously, but I found out I could borrow powers. So when Jeffery Garrett came in, I borrowed his teleportation and hit the road."

"How long before you met up with Logan?"

"Eight months since David, three since I ran away from Southaven."

"And how many people did you touch in that time period?"

I squirmed again. Nothing had happened, yet I was still not comfortable talking about it. "I stole this guy's wallet once and he grabbed me by the back of the neck. It was warm out, so I wasn't wearing my hood. It was only a brush. He didn't get knocked out or anything, but he stopped chasing me. I went back to LA, since that's where mutant kids go. I stayed underground with some other mutants. There was a girl, Domino, she convinced this prep school kid she called Cypher to help her rob some ATMs, and I kept a lookout. But then she got it in her head that we should rob a bank. I wasn't about to get caught and sent back to Southaven again – "

I cleared my throat, remembering Logan wasn't my only audience.

"Uh, and, you know, robbing banks is morally wrong – so when they tried to force me, I knocked them both out, used their powers to get some cash, and hit the road. And the other…I always got rides with truckers because they asked the least questions. They were mostly pretty nice, and they left me alone. Only two of them ever tried to get rough with me."

"Christ," Logan hissed.

"They never got very far," I felt compelled to make clear. "One of them, Gordon was his name, he…well, he pushed me down and tried to kiss me." There had been more to it than that, but Logan was seething enough. "He didn't even last half a second before he was unconscious."

"Anyone else?" Logan gritted out.

"No. Then it was you. And Magneto, and you again. It's just been Bobby since. Oh, and John once, when I had to stop him from hurting those cops."

"Go back for a moment," the Professor said. "Think about when you touched Logan. You needed his power to heal yourself from a potentially fatal wound, which takes a lot of energy. So why wasn't he unconscious as long as, say, David? You only kissed him."

"I can heal pretty quick," Logan reminded him.

"Point taken. That could very well have been a factor. But what about John? You held onto his leg for quite some time, if you're remembering correctly, and he walked away unscathed."

"That's true. And I let go really easily. I don't know how."

"I can only offer speculation, but I think it's because you were concentrating hard enough that you were able to pull his energy from his power instead of from his life force. That's why he was unable to use his power while you were touching him. In the case of Logan, you didn't have that control yet, so you drew from both sources equally. Notice when he healed you yesterday – which was, I have to admit, against my advice," Professor Xavier added for Logan's benefit. "Since you were unconscious, your body blindly absorbed all that it could as fast as it could. The effects were rather powerful. Logan was dizzy for a good twenty minutes."

Logan shrugged, not looking at me.

"Therefore, I believe that the key to your power, Rogue, is to embrace it. When you wield it for a purpose, you're in control."

"But what if I don't want to take someone's powers or their energy? What if I just want to touch them?"

"That…can't be done."

His certainly shocked me. "How do you know?"

"Dr. McCoy ran more tests yesterday. I'm afraid the results…You see, every gift has a purpose. Yours is not much different from Logan's in that they're both designed for self-preservation. Logan is virtually impossible to kill and, since his body has reached its peak, he no longer ages. You could probably do the same, just by living off other people's life forces."

The suggestion was highly offensive to me.

"I didn't say you would. I merely pointed out that you could."

"The test results," Logan interjected, getting to the heart of the matter.

"Yes. It is difficult for me to say this to you, Rogue, but you deserve the truth. In order to unlock this life essence, the people you touch have to be weakened. Your cells exude a sort of imperceptible toxin, which does the job. That toxin is why you can't just touch."

"I see."

It was a good thing I'd officially given up all hope yesterday, or this news would've crushed me.

"Professor McCoy thinks that there's a slight chance that if he were able to get enough of this toxin to test he could maybe find something to counteract it. Perhaps."

"Can't hurt to try," I managed, because it was expected.

"No, it can't. Rogue, I'm very sorry."

The phone on Professor Xavier's desk rang suddenly, causing me to jump.

"Excuse me," he said, picking it up. "I have to take this. Hello, Mr. President. Charles Xavier. I'm glad you got my message. Pardon me? No, I can hold." Putting his hand over the receiver, he told me, "We'll discuss your future training more tomorrow. This could take a while."

Logan and I left his office quietly.

"Like I said, there are creative ways," Logan said finally.

"It's still not worth it."

"What're you going to do?"

I checked his watch. Right on schedule. "First off, I'm going to go change. Then, I'm going to meet the gang."

A vast, infinite universe of coping strategies open wide to me…and I chose the mall. For better or worse? I still don't know.


	8. Honest Development, 8

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part One**

"**Honest Development"**

"_Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. _

_To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere _

_and honest development of one's potential." _

– _Bruce Lee –_

_~ Know Your Rights ~_

When I reached my room, there was a clear, blue CD case sitting on my floor, as if someone had slid it under my door. I picked it up, noting the boyish cursive that proclaimed the CD "Rogue's Mix." There was a note along with it in the same handwriting. It read: "Dear Rogue, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I've learned my lesson. Please take this humble gift as a gesture of apology. Sincerely, Travis Ryan."

Highly skeptical, I played the CD on my laptop while I changed my clothes. I didn't recognize the first track until it got to the chorus. It was "Poison" by Alice Cooper. Little bastard didn't know how right he was. I picked up the remote and flipped it to the next song. White Snake, "I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight." I flipped it again. The Doors, "People Are Strange." The rest of the CD was the same. Most of the songs were good ones, only with mildly insulting titles like "Psycho Therapy" by The Ramones. God, talk about holding a grudge.

I finished dressing, and then got out a pen and paper to send my reply. "Flea: Thank you so much for the mix. How'd you know I like classic rock? Your apology is gladly accepted. I'm happy to know that you're mature enough to realize that we're all a team, and we're all in this together. Things are going to be changing a lot for you next year since you're going to be a freshman. If this gesture is any indication, then I think that you're going to grow up to be a very well-rounded, likeable guy. Thanks again for the CD. If you feel like making me another one, I am from Mississippi, so maybe a little 'Mississippi Queen' is in order? Just a thought. Thanks again, Rogue."

There. That was mature and suitably sarcastic. Even if he was dense enough to take it seriously, it would only serve to make him feel bad. Provided he had a conscience. I wasn't quite sure about that.

Taking my purse, the note, and my heavy bag of returns with me, I headed downstairs to meet Jubilee and Kitty in the game room. On my way, I happened to run into Artie. I gave him the note to give to Flea, along with a huge, friendly grin, just to confuse the hell out of him.

Bobby was already with Kitty and Jubilee when I got there. He was saying, "How could you guys want to go shopping again? Didn't you just get back from a week-long shopping spree?"

Jubilee blinked at him, her face blank. "Yeah. Your point?"

"I guess I don't really have one."

"Hey, how'd the big meeting go?" Jubilee asked when she noticed me. At the question, Kitty looked up from her palm pilot and Bobby grew tense.

"It's official. I'm terminal."

Disappointment flashed in Jubilee's eyes, but she just said, "Suckage."

I ignored her pity, and Kitty and Bobby's, and replied just as causally, "Totally. You guys ready?"

The four of us went out to the garage. Bobby punched in the password into the computer and swiped his Student ID so that we could check out a car. It wasn't one of Cyclops's really nice ones, but it was a fairly new model of the Saturn Eclipse. Definitely not something we were ashamed to be seen in. We played rock, paper, scissors to see who would drive. Jubilee won. I quickly called shotgun so that Bobby and Kitty would have to squeeze in the back together. Jubilee winked at me over the roof of the car, since we were now coconspirators.

The mall was fairly dead and I was on a mission, so we got my shopping done quickly. Kitty and Jubilee mourned the loss of the clothes they'd so diligently helped me pick out, not heartened by my constant assurances that we were doing a service to mankind. Once I was satisfied with my new wardrobe, Jubilee dragged Kitty off to skimpier territory while Bobby and I hit Best Buy on the way to the food court.

"Hey, look," Bobby said, picking up the new Razorlight album.

"They've been around forever," I remarked. "Johnny Borrell still thinks he's Jim Morrison and Bob Dylan combined. Rock star egos. What're you gonna do?"

"Yeah, I still like them, though. I was probably twelve when their first CD came out. I remember my friend's sister had it. Ah, here it is. _Up All Night_. I gotta buy both of these, man. 'Golden Touch,' now that's a great song." To my horror, he started to sing, "'I know a girl with a golden touch / She's got enough, she's got too much / But I know, you wouldn't mind / You could have it all it if you want it / You could have it all if it mattered – '"

"Bobby," I interrupted. "Bobby. You're very loud." And off-key.

"Oh, I embarrass you. That's really why you broke up with me, isn't it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes."

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What is it like in your head? With me in there, I mean. I never understood that."

"It's hard to explain. I don't even know. It's not really you, but it's enough like you that I sometimes feel like if turn around really fast you'll be standing behind me. You don't talk to me or anything. It's not like I hear voices. I might find myself doing things you would do, though. Like at Thanksgiving last year. I couldn't stand the smell of yams, even though they used to be my favorite."

"Ugh, I hate yams."

"I know you do."

"You talk like me, too." Sounding like Yosemite Sam he continued, "Your Southern drawl's almost completely gone, little darlin'."

"I forbid you from talking like that ever again. But, yeah, I did notice that."

"Do you have my memories?"

"I think I only remember them if you were thinking something specifically while we were touching." I grinned teasingly. "Like your first kiss, in kindergarten behind the bushes with Julie Reeder. Thinking about another girl while you're kissing me. For shame."

Bobby laughed. "If it's any consolation, your breath smells a lot better than hers did. I think she ate dirt."

"I think she did, too. You sure do know how to pick the ladies."

"Eh, you weren't so bad. Not much to look at, though."

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up and buy me a Cinnabun, Icepick."

We hung around the mall for a while longer, basking in our easy camaraderie. It was dusk before we got back to the school. We would've stayed out later, but the car needed to be back.

Logan was waiting for me, a first in my estimation. "Feel like going to a movie?" he asked me.

"You want to go to the movie theater? You know there are people there, right?"

He shrugged. "I was a dick. Thought I'd make up to you."

Be still, my heart. "I could go for that. Let me put my stuff away in my room."

"We'll help," Jubilee announced, taking one of the smaller bags from me. We all crowded into the elevator, standing in silence. It was too much for Jubilee. "So what movie are you gonna see? I recommend the new Johnny Depp one. I swear to God, that man does not age. You think he's a mutant? Probably. Hey, Bobby, you and Kitty should go along. It'd be like a double – " She caught Logan's glare. "Never mind."

We reached the second floor. My door was second across from the elevator, right next door to Bobby's. Logan's room was down the hall.

Jubilee unceremoniously tossed the bag she'd been carrying onto my bed. "Here, here's your stuff. Have fun, kiddies. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

When she, Bobby, and Kitty had disappeared into Bobby's room, Logan leaned on my doorframe, exasperated. "Does that girl ever shut up?"

"Huh-uh. I don't even think she has to breathe anymore."

"Remind me again how you two could be the same age?"

That was the best compliment he could've given me. Smiling, I replied, "Don't let her exuberance fool you. She's pretty crafty. You'd be surprised."

Suddenly serious, Logan studied me closely, his head cocked. "Are you happier now?"

"Happiness is relative. I'm balanced, that's what matters."

Logan grunted his approval. "C'mon, let's get outta here. Kid."

Yeah, I was definitely in love with that man, more so at that moment than ever before. As for him, I knew he cared a lot about me, loved me even. It wasn't everything I wanted, but it was enough. Nothing about my surroundings had changed, yet for once I was happy to be right where I was. And grateful. I hadn't been truly grateful in a long time.


	9. Tempered Melancholy, 1

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ A Touch Too Much ~_

Once I got passed the whole kid party, piñata, streamers, and balloons phase, my birthdays no longer seemed like such a big deal. When I turned eleven, twelve, and thirteen my mom had to force me to invite the girls in my neighborhood over for sleepovers. Our community was tight knit so, out of politeness, all of them came unless they had valid excuses not to. The moms crowded into my kitchen and made margaritas while us girls set up our sleeping bags in the living room. There were usually around sixteen of us there, and everyone wanted a spot next to Claire Lawson because she had all the best nail polish and knew how to French braid. She stole my thunder every year, but I pretended not to care. I told everyone my mom's braids were neater, and my best friend, Natalie Casstevens, always kept me entertained.

For my fourteenth birthday, my mom took me and Natalie to see our favorite singer at the time, Kenny Chesney, in concert. That started a new tradition, which lasted two years longer. Our taste in music changed as often as Natalie's hair color. We went from country to emo to screaming our hearts out at the AC/DC reunion tour that came to the Mississippi Coast Coliseum when I was sixteen. That concert almost made up for the fact that, while I had gotten my license, I hadn't gotten a car. If the people at the city council had had any decency, they would've waited until after my birthday to hike up the already high Meridian property taxes.

My memories of my seventeenth birthday aren't fond ones. David had been out of the hospital for a week and, for obvious reasons, he hadn't asked to see me. I'd thought that if I went to see him I could show him how sorry I was in a way that notes and flowers couldn't convey. I'd felt too guilty to celebrate my birthday without setting things right with him first, so that morning I got up early and headed over to his house. Nervously, I rang his doorbell. My heart was slamming in my chest when his dad finally opened the door. Peering around him, I saw David sitting at his kitchen table with his mom. He stopped buttering his toast and just stared at me. His mom looked horrified. David's dad glanced back at his wife and son. "I think you'd better go," he'd told me, not letting me speak.

"Wait. Please, let me apologize. I just want – "

The door was shut in my face before I could finish. It wasn't fair. I hadn't meant to hurt David. He'd been my friend. Didn't I deserve forgiveness? They weren't even giving me a chance.

"It wasn't my fault," I'd shrilled at the top of my lungs, kicking the screen door in frustration. From next door, Pastor Nash gaped at me, half bent over to pick up his newspaper. I kicked David's screen door again, angry because I'd made a public spectacle of myself. I was on the verge of tears as I sprinted diagonally across the tree-lined street back to my house. I hated to cry, though I did it often enough that I almost came to enjoy it.

Since seventeen was the worst, it was no surprise that my next birthday was a much happier occasion. Bobby, sweetheart that he was, froze a patch of grass in a remote part of the park and we spent a charming September afternoon sliding around, falling into each other's arms. We might've stayed out there until dark had John not decided it would be funny to melt the ice out from under us. Before we knew it, Bobby and I were kneeling in a wide puddle of mud. I didn't shriek or complain; I threw a watery clump of mud right at John's face. He was shocked at my audacity. I think it was the first time he actually respected me as a person, instead of a treating me as an abstract sex object. After the mud-ball fight that had ensued, we sprayed each other off with a hose, and then the three of us slogged back inside, weak with laughter. My eighteenth birthday hadn't fallen on an election year and I didn't win the lottery, but it was a memorable day nonetheless.

The only thing was, I half-expected Logan to come home from his post-Dr. Grey, pre-teaching-agreement trip just because it was my birthday. Not that he had anyway of knowing that, since I'd never told him. I'd just hoped that maybe he would sense it or fate would bring us together or something. The night before, I hadn't been able to sleep because I was too busy vividly fantasizing about the way he would look when he swept me into his muscular arms and whispered romantically in my ear that he'd always loved me and had just been biding his time in Canada until I was officially an adult. That particular fantasy usually ended in a passionate kiss and eventual wedding bells.

Needless to say, my highly active imagination was in no way grounded in reality. When he had finally returned, a month later, our reunion had been incredibly anticlimactic. I'd hugged him loosely and made an attempt at banter, trying not to betray the full extent of my joy at his return. Logan had seen right through that, just like he must have when we'd gone through the same ritual after his first return. He might not have been the most emotionally sensitive guy in the world, but he'd had enough experience with fawning to recognize that was just what I was doing. Not that it mattered to him.

My nineteenth birthday passed without much notice. I did get a few presents and lots of hugs, though, and to celebrate, I went bowling with Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Peter Rasputin, and Julian Keller. It wasn't anything we didn't do on a regular basis, but it was still fun. Keller and I were becoming pretty close as we were the odd men out since Jubilee and Peter were dating and Bobby and Kitty were pointedly not dating while doing all the flirty things couples do. To be honest, I couldn't help being a little envious. Not just of Kitty, but of the touching thing in general.

A person can't completely transcended jealousy. It's innate.

All I could do was not let it get to me. Keller helped out a lot with that. His affinity for practical jokes combined with his marginal telekinetic ability kept me laughing too hard to fall into the trap of resentment. When we bowled, I always made sure he was on my team so he could give my ball a helpful nudge when I needed it. I bowled my first perfect game thanks to him. The lane manager gave me a certificate and everything, which went along nicely with the free pizza I got in honor of my birthday.

Later, Logan took me out for ice cream and a joy ride on Cyclops's bike, which he'd been teaching me to drive. I'd relished the feel of his arms wrapped securely around my waist. That had been the highlight of my day.

It's hard to judge time when looking back, but nineteen seemed to come and go in an instant. A lot of things happened that year, but they were all repetitive. Finals and midterms, grueling training sessions that left my back aching and my head ringing, hanging out in Bobby's room with the gang, having intense discussions about the meaning of life with Kurt, watching action movies and cop shows on the couch in the teacher's lounge with Logan. Thus was my life.

Meanwhile, mutants attacked non-mutants, non-mutants attacked mutants, mutants attacked mutants – the only way to keep track of the bad guys was to remember what we stood for. We were the good guys, fighting for peace, bogged down in hate. Crime was increasing everyday all across the nation. Conservatives blamed mutants; liberals blamed societal conditions. Neither side did anything about it. Even as they rallied for their cause, it was as if they secretly hoped nothing would come of it. Very few government officials had the nerve to make a move for fear of everything blowing up in their faces.

They kept on plugging down the straight and narrow. They went home to their significant others or shacked up with their secretaries as they'd always done, knowing full well that their blissfully normal lives could shatter at any moment.


	10. Tempered Melancholy, 2

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Street Fighting Man ~_

President McKenna was a calming presence during the turmoil. He assured the American people that they were safe in a way that no one else could. "Wait it out," was his message in so many words. "Go about your business in blissful ignorance, pretend like nothing is wrong. I'll take care of you." That's what most people wanted to hear. Despite what the news depicted, really stanch anti-mutant protestors were few and far in between. A lot of people showed up to wave their signs every once in a while, and they complained about the mutant problem to anyone who'd listen, but that's pretty much where it ended. No one legitimate had stepped up to organize their idle hate into action.

In that area, the Brotherhood had the advantage. Magneto's skill at manipulating the minds of impressionable mutants was almost as adept as his finesse in handling metal. His following grew steadily as he moved from city to city. He was a fugitive at large, yet he wasn't running from anybody. No prison cell could hold him and the only person powerful enough to kill him wouldn't. Professor Xavier always knew where he was, though, and what he was up to. The few moves Magneto made were designed specifically to test us and always ended in stalemates. Mostly, he bided his time and held rallies.

The Harlem rally that took place the day of my twentieth birthday was the largest yet. There were close to a hundred mutants gathered into the dimly lit warehouse basement, nearly every one of them teenagers. Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Peter, Keller, and I didn't look at all out of place fanned out among them. Not that we were worried about being spotted. It was just easier to observe if we remained inconspicuous. I lingered in the back, keeping a watchful eye on the others. Besides Bobby, they weren't officially X-Men yet. I felt it was my responsibility to look out for them even though each one of them had powers greater than mine.

I scanned the crowd, noting that Professor Xavier was right. Magneto did appeal most to those whose mutations had manifested in the physical. Predictably, they were the ones who responded loudest when the speaker's heated declarations grew aggressive. I recognized the speaker from one of our skirmishes a few weeks back. He looked to be only a little older than me. The manner in which he spoke gave me the impression that he was well educated, possibly with a background in political science. His phrasing was carefully constructed to make him seem at once one of the crowd and omnipotent. His long legs ate up the stage as he paced, microphone in hand. He nodded as the crowd clapped and shouted out their agreement to his last point.

"Yes, yes people. We are all one. But let me take a moment to address all my brothers and sisters of color here tonight. It's been fifty years since your grandparents and my grandparents fought to give our mothers and fathers freedom in this land of liberty. Fifty years ago, they thought they'd won. Won what? Nothing's changed. We might be free but are we treated as equals? That's right. No! We are not equal in the eyes of those in power and we never will be. Just like they will never see we mutants as equals. But don't you worry yourselves about them. They will one day be judged. Judged twice, in fact. Once by us in this earthly plane and once more by the Lord God Almighty. And He will find them wanting!"

Boisterous cheers echoed on the concrete walls. I found it incredibly ironic that both sides exploited the idea of an angry God in their arguments against one another. When had the just and caring God Kurt had taught me to love so much gone out of style?

"Enjoying the show?" My head swiveled around swiftly. John smirked, taking pleasure in the fact that he'd been able to startle me. "Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior."

Worry had never even registered with me. I was too surprised. I'd met John in confrontation multiple times, but this was the first time we'd been on the verge of conversation that extended beyond the catchphrase, "Burn, bitch." Without the enraged gleam in his eyes, he looked unsettlingly normal. His smirk was almost friendly.

Guilt unfurled in my stomach. Why hadn't we done more to save him? He'd chosen his own path, true, but if it had been me I know that Logan at least would've done everything he could to bring me back. We'd let John go with barely a murmur of protest. We hadn't always gotten along, but he'd been my friend. I should've fought for him.

"So when'd that happen," John asked, inclining his head toward where Bobby and Kitty stood facing the stage. They were holding hands.

"While ago. It's been a year and, what, three or four months since we broke up."

The corners of John's lips turned down in surprise. "You two were practically married."

"Never consummated. Poison skin and all."

"You still got that?"

"Touch me and find out," I challenged.

After a moment, we both looked away, grinning. I cleared my throat, willing myself to keep in mind that John was the enemy and I was here for a purpose. I turned my attention back to the speaker.

"Everyone talks about how different the philosophies of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X were. We're taught in school that MLK was a hero and Malcolm X was a dangerous rabble-rouser. But what do those men have in common? I'll tell you what. They're both dead. Not just dead, slain. It doesn't matter to the enemy if you come in peace or war. Given the chance, they will eradicate every single one of us. Black, brown, white, blue, green, yellow – it doesn't matter to them. All they see when they look at us is a freak. The choice is ours. Should we lay down and get trampled, or use our God-give weapons and fight?"

"Fight!" was the overwhelming response.

"Happy birthday," John told me when the noise died down a little, apropos of nothing.

"What? Oh." He wasn't playing fair. We were supposed to be acting cold and detached from one another. It simplified things. Still, I couldn't bring myself to be rude. "Thanks. Yours was in July, right?"

"Yep. I'm sure my gift just got lost in the mail."

Playing along, I replied, "I don't know what could've happened to it. I used FedEx and everything."

"Overnight delivery?"

"Of course."

"Eh, that's all right. It was probably a crappy present anyway. What should I get you?"

"How about you stop setting me on fire?"

"Maybe if you weren't always shooting at me, I would."

"They're tranquillizer darts, you big baby. And it's my job."

"Listen to that dedication. Such commitment is inspiring. You're even working on your birthday."

"Actually, it was to my advantage. We did a little sightseeing before we came here. I got over my Statue of Liberty-phobia. I'm glad they were able to rebuild the torch."

"That's right. You almost didn't make it eighteen, never mind twenty. How's it feel?"

"Same old. You?"

John snorted, his expression sullen. "Feels like fucking ninety."

"Sometimes," I agreed quietly. We were standing close enough together that he could still hear me.

"Oh? Everything's not kitty cats and rainbows over in the gumdrop land of the just and righteous?"

"We have just as many enemies as you do."

"Did you hear the governor of Mississippi wants to ban mutants from voting in the next election? Not that it's going to be much of a fight. McKenna's going to get his second term, no doubt. But doesn't it piss you off that your home state wants to take away your rights?"

"Can't be done. Anonymity is a mutant's first defense," I paraphrased the Professor.

Inclining his head toward a group of obvious mutants standing in front of us, John said, "Not everyone has that luxury. And how long do you think the rest of us will have even that much? Besides, the intent is what counts."

He had me there, though I had to point out, "You know, you're not helping anything by making non-mutants afraid of us."

"They should be afraid. We have the power. I like to be the one to remind them of that."

"Yeah, I saw you on the news the other night. What is it with you and cops?"

"They were infringing on my right for peaceful protest. I had to retaliate. It's the American way."

"Oh, yes, plotting to overthrow the government is so very peaceful. That's called treason and it's illegal. You should be in jail…What's going on?" A hearty applause had broken out as the normal lighting was replaced by pulsating strobe lights. People clustered in groups to dance to the heavy beat of the music now pumping out of the speakers.

"No better way to get them to come back than giving them free alcohol and a party. My idea."

"Isn't Magneto going to offer any words of wisdom to his flock?" I hadn't even caught a glimpse of him or Mystique yet.

"Not tonight. Looks like Ricochet did his job."

"You don't exactly sound thrilled."

Ignoring that, John grinned at me wickedly. "Care for a dance with the devil?"

"No. Thank you," I replied drolly. "What is this, anyway? They've repeated the word 'freak' about a hundred times and song's barely started."

"Hey, if you can't change what you are, embrace it. But I think the song's about sex anyway."

Ricochet appeared out of the crowd to greet John warmly and slap him on the back. "Pyro, my man. How'd you like the speech?"

John looked at him with the utmost distaste. "It's the same one you always give."

"But the crowd, man. The crowd was hot. Am I right?" he asked, glancing in my direction. He didn't wait for an answer. "Listen, Pyro, I gotta talk to you for a minute. Serious business. You mind excusing us, honey? Come on, let's go talk outside."

John did not look pleased with the situation. "Yeah, fine. I'll be back, Rogue. Save me a dance." Bastard actually attempted to grab my ass. I knocked his hand away indigently.

Ricochet finally recognized me. He fixed me with a penetrating look. "What's she doing here?"

"Just enjoying the show," I responded coolly, glancing at John out the corner of my eye.

"Forget about her. She's not gonna do anything. Let's go," he said, pushing Ricochet toward the backdoor that led up into the alley.

They were discussing serious business, huh? That sounded like something worth eavesdropping on. Maybe then we'd have something to report to Professor Xavier besides, "Giant kegger." I looked around for Kitty, but she was nowhere to be found. Not wanting to miss anything, I decided to go myself.

Crouching on the stairs, I carefully inched open the thick door and peered through the crack. John and Ricochet both turned to look at me, alerted by the music's increase in volume. Well, no one had ever accused me of being stealthy. Luckily, that particular deficiency didn't matter because I spotted the reason for the serious talk in the palm of Ricochet's right hand.

Ricochet and John jumped back when I threw open the door. Wasting no time, Ricochet lunged at John, knife ready. Knowing from painful experience that any blow I landed on Ricochet would come back double on me, I pushed John out of the way instead of attacking Ricochet outright.

Ricochet missed John's ribcage but caught me in my upper arm. The feel of steel passing through sinew was excruciating.

Letting out an angry, guttural yell, I lashed out. The toe of my shoe caught Ricochet right between the legs. Seeing the comic, astonished anguish on his face was worth the pain of getting thrown backwards into the uneven brick wall.

Ricochet hastily limped out of the alley, clutching himself and moaning loudly.

Dizzy but sadistically satisfied that I'd found his Achilles' heel, I used the wall to get to my feet. "Do me a favor," I told John, closing my eyes tightly. "Pull the knife out."

"I'm not gonna – "

"Do it. And make it fast."

I almost cracked my teeth trying not to scream, but I managed to keep my dignity. Hissing in short breaths, I pulled up my sleeve to watch my skin knit together over the wound. I could feel the muscle tissue doing the same inside my arm. The dull ache left behind was only a partial relief.

"How'd you do that?" John asked, watching me wipe away my blood.

"I trained with Logan yesterday. I was hoping his power had stuck around."

John dropped the bloody knife and kicked it away from us. "Good thing it did."

"Yeah. I was pissed earlier, though. I took out my earrings to change them – totally not paying attention – and the holes closed up. I'm going to have to get them all re-pierced once it wears off. Five piercing at once."

"Life's a bitch."

"Truly. Although, I will say, thank God his heightened senses never stick around. The hearing thing gives me a headache and don't even get me started on the nose thing. It's like smelling in Technicolor. Not fun."

"Whatever you say." John reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"

"I'm good," I declined.

Using the shark lighter I remembered so well, he lit a cigarette for himself and leaned against the wall, one leg bent at the knee. John always did think he was James Dean incarnate.

"So, what was all that about?" I wanted to know.

He blew out a long stream of smoke. "Nothing much. I'm top dog, next to Mystique. Ricochet wants that spot for himself. Never thought he'd have the balls to actually do anything about it." John cast me an appreciative glance. "Probably doesn't anymore."

I shook my head in disgust. "What kind of Brotherhood is this if you can't even trust your own teammates?"

"Doesn't matter. I've never been much for team playing," he sniffed arrogantly. Mockingly, he added, "I'm more of the rogue type."

I sighed. "Well, if you ever get tired of the hyenas, you know where to go."

"Not gonna happen."

"Just the same," I shrugged.

"Look, I know you saved my life and all, but that doesn't entitle you to any say in it."

The backdoor to the warehouse opened and Bobby stepped out. "There you are." A frown settled on his face when he saw who I was with. "John."

"Nice to see you, too, pal."

"Come on, Rogue," Bobby said warily. "We've got to get back."

"Is that the kind of welcome home I can expect if I ever have a change of heart?" John asked me.

I pushed myself off the wall. "I don't know. You haven't had one yet. I'll see you later."

"You will. Just don't expect me to pull any punches."

Suddenly overwhelmingly tired, I replied dully, "Me either."


	11. Tempered Melancholy, 3

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Let Me Put My Love Into You ~_

Logan's fingers were touching my left breast. There was nothing overt about it; from the way we were lounging it could've been an accident.

His hand, originally cupped around my upper arm, had slipped. Without moving my head, I raised my eyes to his scruffy, resolute profile to check for any signs of awareness. He was focused on the TV, seemingly engrossed in the complex and intricate plot of _Die Hard_. I knew he had to have been able to feel my open stare, yet he never once glanced over. Did that mean his hand had slipped on purpose? My heart rate began to accelerate at the thought. Logan heard it or felt it against his ribcage or both because he shifted uncomfortably and removed his arm from my shoulders. I lifted the side of my face from his warm cotton shirt. I was so confused.

He went out of his way to present himself as this essentially one-dimensional tough guy, the kind of guy who saw something he wanted and took it. Logically, if he wanted me, then he'd make a move. He hadn't and it didn't seem likely that he ever would.

So what was with this faux-inadvertent cop-a-feel game he was playing? He'd been doing it for months. It had started off with looks, and it hadn't gotten much further than what it was now. Was it for my benefit? He let me get away with a friendly cuddle now and then, but I hardly believed that he thought faking a physical interest in me would make me feel any better. There was obviously something more going on there. Something even he didn't fully recognize or else I probably would've felt it when he touched me while working on my control. The whole situation was seriously screwing up my balance.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan cleared his throat loudly. "Is this movie almost over?"

"We don't have to finish it if you're tired," I responded, a little petulantly.

He shrugged. "I think you should get your rest. We're gonna start our regular training again tomorrow."

"Why would you want to do that? I'm not supposed to absorb your power again until it goes away from last time. Dr. McCoy needs to see how long lasts."

"It's been over a week."

"I know. And the longest it's ever lasted before is a day. Don't you want to know why?"

"It's not gonna matter much if it suddenly runs out in the middle of a fight."

"Give me some credit, here. I'm not going to take any unnecessary risks by relying on you or your power to heal me." Wisely, I hadn't told him about the little incident with Ricochet. Professor Xavier was the only one who knew about that. "Besides," I said, "We both know that we're not getting anywhere with my control anymore. We should concentrate on my hand-to-hand combat." I figured that maybe if I got good enough at that, Logan wouldn't be breathing down my neck at every minor scuffle.

"Look, I'm your trainer. And I say that we have been making progress. I would know."

"I don't care. You'll ruin the experiment."

"You're not an experiment," he snapped.

I tossed my hair back haughtily. "You're not touching me."

Never one to be shown up, Logan grabbed me by the arm, his hand in direct contact with the bare skin peaking out between the top of my glove and the sleeve of my t-shirt. I narrowed my eyes in concentration, thinking to give him a jolt by abruptly drawing a fair amount of energy from his life-force. Nothing happened. I mean nothing. His bare skin was touching my bare skin and nothing was happening.

We gawked at the place where we touched, the petty hostility between us giving in favor of sheer wonder. An eerie, lightheaded sensation overtook me as I watched him slowly slide the warm pads of his fingers down the length of my arm, taking off my glove in the process. Cautiously, he wrapped his hand around my wrist and squeezed. No wave of power, no pain. Just touch. Shakily, I took off my other glove with my teeth. I hardly recognized the trembling, pale hand I placed on top of Logan's as my own. His breath caught.

Something in my mind snapped.

Faster than even he could react, I swung my leg over his torso so that my butt was planted directly on lap. In the same fluid movement, I took his face in the palms of my hands and pressed my lips against his, a wave of near-franticness overtaking us both. After years of playing second fiddle to a ghost and one-night stands, I finally had his complete and unwavering attention. It was exhilarating. His mouth, his hands…

"I think we should see the Professor."

I jerked my gaze from where my hand rested on Logan's to his sober hazel eyes. I blinked away my fantasy, acutely disappointed that I'd missed my window of opportunity. I could've done it; I could've jumped him. I still wanted to. I licked my bottom lip, wondering if I was as agile in real life. About ready to find out, a quick image of a not-so receptive Logan dumping my ass onto the floor in disgust chilled my raging hormones. It finally sunk in that his main concern was finding out how this was possible instead of milking it for all it was worth.

Logan stood up, letting go of my wrist. "Let's go."

Picking up my discarded gloves and stuffing them in the pocket of my jeans, I followed numbly.

For the past two – almost three – years of my life, all I'd dreamt about was being able to touch Logan. Why had I let doubt mess up my perfect kiss? Regret was a far worse fate than embarrassment. I knew that. Still, I'd hesitated. Now I was probably going to spend the rest of the night hooked up to machines in the med lab with only Dr. McCoy as company. Logan had been so indignant about people treating me as an experiment before; where had those qualms gone? Didn't he understand that this was a momentary opportunity? It was going to wear off. I was so sure of that fact, I felt like crying.

I barely noticed that we'd headed to the stairs instead of straight to Professor Xavier's office. Logan led me down a corridor I'd never been down before. He stopped at a thick, oak door where he gave a perfunctory knock, then walked right in. Professor Xavier and Cyclops looked up from a chessboard. Already caught up on all he needed to know, the Professor was intrigued. Cyclops was visibly annoyed. I pretended to be interested in the red and gold wallpaper, which decorated what I concluded was Professor Xavier's own personal sitting room.

Professor Xavier pushed himself away from the chess table to face Logan and me. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket or even a tie. That surprised me for some reason. It occurred to me that wearing suits all the time was probably as confining as constantly wearing gloves. "Perhaps we should go to the med lab and have a word with Dr. McCoy."

I knew it. Dr. McCoy was going to poke and prod my precious seconds away. Cyclops gave me a strange stare as we left the room. What're you looking at? I thought rudely. Interrupting his chess game sure hadn't been my idea. He could thank Logan for that one.

Dr. McCoy was waiting for us in the hallway of the lower levels when we came out of the elevator. Uneasily crossing my bare arms behind my back, I kept close to Logan as Dr. McCoy ushered us into the med lab. The large, blue-furred "beast" – who, not too long ago, had been a thin, brown-haired man – was eager to analyze the hiccup in my mutation. Dutifully, I held out my hand so he could take the skin samples he needed. The scrape healed quickly.

"Just as I thought," he announced after a minute of peering into a microscope. "Nothing has changed."

I sat down heavily on one of the infirmary beds. I couldn't remember ever having been so angry at Logan.

Not buying Dr. McCoy's analysis, Logan grabbed my naked wrist and held it up for the others to see. "Something's changed." Cyclops and I were the only ones surprised. Logan dropped my arm and didn't look at me.

"Oh, of course it has," Dr. McCoy blinked. "Just not with Rogue. The change is with you."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Me."

"Yes. For example. Cyclops, would you be so…Well, no, I suppose that wouldn't be wise."

"I don't think, in this case, a demonstration is unnecessary," Professor Xavier opined.

An explanation would be nice, though, I thought. The shock was making me derisive.

"Perhaps you should explain further," the Professor told Dr. McCoy.

"It's simple, really," Dr. McCoy answered, his large hands animated. "Over the past few months, Logan's extraordinary immune system has become resistant to the affects of the toxin in Rogue's skin. I deduced that that was the reason it became so much less painful for Logan when Rogue absorbed his power."

"I thought it was because I was gaining control," I replied, puzzled.

"Oh, certainly, that happened as well, as made evident when you were able to use Quicksilver's speed against him without gaining any of his memories or personality traits. But, with Logan, since he adapted to your skin, we saw that he was no longer incapacitated by your touch."

"It still hurt him."

"Yes, but he could've fought back at anytime. Not just at the beginning. I meant to test that, but I've been preoccupied with a serum I'm working on." His eyes flickered over to Cyclops momentarily before he continued, "The plateau in your training that you hit was a result of that immunity."

"That was a long time ago," Logan pointed out. He was standing with his weight shifted away from me, his arms crossed over his chest.

"And in that time Rogue has been able draw huge amounts of energy from you in increasingly longer sittings. It should've killed you, but, due to a number of dynamics like your immunity to her toxin and your healing capabilities, it didn't. Instead, she's absorbed your powers completely. Perhaps permanently. We can't really be sure of that, but it seems likely. Her body is satisfied with the near-immortality it has taken from you. An oversupply would be simply unnecessary."

I titled my head forward so that my hair would hide my face. The detached part of me struggled against the hope that Dr. McCoy's longwinded explanation had roused. Permanent was forever. From now on, it was safe for me to touch Logan. In point of fact, I had been able to touch Logan for over a week, I just hadn't realized it. I couldn't quite grasp the alien concept. It was too big.

"What about other people?" Logan was asking.

I looked up at him. Who cared about other people?

Dr. McCoy folded his hands in front of him. "I'm afraid not."

In an attempt to appear adequately disappointed, I looked down at my bare hands. Obviously, that was the catch. There had to be a catch or else it would've been too good to be true and I wouldn't have trusted it. If it had been anyone else, I would've been sorely disappointed. But it was Logan so I was okay with it. Forget science. This was a made-to-order miracle. Thank you God, I thought fervently.

There was, however, always room for doubt. "So we don't really know if this will…if it'll last," the pessimist in me remarked.

"Well, as I said, we can't know. But it does seem likely," Dr. McCoy replied.

Making up my mind to be satisfied, I peaked over at Logan to see what he thought about that. I was hit by an abrupt jolt. His complete attention was focused on me. Intensely focused. Color crept into my cheeks.

Logan turned and left. "Training tomorrow. Get some sleep," was all he said as walked away.

I watched him walk out. Cyclops, Dr. McCoy, and the Professor watched me watch him walk out. There really wasn't anything else left to be said, aside from a feeble promise from Dr. McCoy to keep on testing my skin samples in various ways. I nodded my thanks. The whole situation was very uncomfortable for me, so I excused myself as soon as possible.

As much as I had to think about, my mind was curiously blank as I stepped into the empty elevator. The butterflies in my stomach were doing the thinking for me. They were making me twitchy and uncomfortable.

The elevator paused on the first floor and opened its doors. I scooted myself into the back right side corner to make room. It was eleven-o-five, the tail end of the second lights-out rush of the night. I was glad that I didn't have classes the next day. I could probably sleep in until noon. I glanced up at the stragglers as they filed in. Artie, Rett, Streak, Nicole, and Flea. Fantastic. Thankfully, they ignored me, too engaged in their argument about what their band should be called.

"Mutant Boyz is not a bad name," Streak contended, taking of his glasses to polish them.

"No, you're right. It's a horrible name," Flea retorted.

"Well, what's your great idea, then?"

Flea put his arm around the reedy, blond-haired girl. "I told you. Let our brilliant song writer handle it."

Streak, Artie, and Rett didn't look exactly convinced.

"I'll tell you what," Nicole said, "I'll come up with a list of names, but you guys can have the final say."

"That sounds good," Rett put in. Artie nodded.

"Okay," Streak relented.

The boys got off at their floor, leaving Nicole and me alone. She smiled at me politely. I gave a fleeting smile back. I could tell she was holding her tongue.

"It's complicated," I told her.

She turned her eyes to the floor. "Sorry. I can't really help it."

"Yeah, I know what that's like."

Once I got to my room, I threw my clothes in the direction of my hamper and headed for the shower.

It's complicated. What an oversimplification. So what if it was complicated? I still had to deal with it. I could be touched. By Logan. I'd wanted that for so long. It didn't seem real, but it was. All the sweat and hard work I'd put in day after day for almost a year and half had paid off in a way I'd never allowed myself to believe was possible. Logan could touch me. Had touched me.

I closed my eyes under the hot spray of water, reliving the way the smooth, warm tips of his fingers had caressed my forearm, the moment his breath had caught, the heated way he'd looked at me in the med lab. I'd seen hints of that look before but never like that. We were on a whole new level, one of unexplored territory for me. Well, unexplored in the real world. The terrain was incredibly well mapped out in not-a-chance-in-hell-but-I'm-still-going-to-devote-unhealthy-amounts-of-time-dreaming-about-it world.

But my fantasies, as well as they had served me in the past, were useless to me now. Nothing had happened as it should've. No declarations of love and noble intentions, no passionate kisses. He'd simply walked out on me. It was the direct opposite of everything I'd ever imagined him doing, which startled me into wondering exactly how far my dream Logan had strayed from the real Logan. More than I was comfortable admitting. Could I honestly see Logan getting weepy over my pristine white wedding dress? No. Did I really want him to? I thought about that one for a bit longer. Maybe not exactly weepy, but I wanted to him to think I was beautiful when we got –

Married? Married. Logan. Who was I kidding? I turned off the shower, suddenly feeling a decade older. If I was going to have Logan it was going to be his way. I towel dried my long hair savagely, realizing that I was the one who was going to have to make the sacrifices.

But then I thought, well, maybe I'd be better off just keeping the fantasy, if that was worth more to me than him. He was a grown man with his own distinct personality. I couldn't magically transform him into some Prince Charming knock-off just because it'd be easier for me to have him that way. If easy was what I wanted I would've stayed with Bobby and learned to be creative. I'd blamed the fact that we'd barely gotten to first base on my mutation, but it was mostly by choice. Bobby just hadn't done it for me.

Flowery speeches and clean-shaven jaws be damned. I wanted Logan and his rough affection, his fits of despondency, and his surprising depth. I wanted his striking hazel eyes to always look at me with such intensity. I wanted his strong arms wrapped tightly around me. I wanted his skin, his hands, and his lips, and his love. And I wanted it now.


	12. Tempered Melancholy, 4

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction ~_

Rashly, I headed straight for my dresser. I discarded my black nightgown because I didn't want to risk the chance that it might remind him of the night we'd narrowly escaped the soldiers and, by extension, Dr. Grey's death. My sewn up pink nightgown was my favorite but, well, there were strong memories attached to it, too. I had lots of flannel pajama pants but they weren't exactly sexy. My fingers brushed satin. That was more like it.

The satin nightgown was white and formfitting, like a dress. It glided over my head easily, light as air, not quite reaching my knees. It was completely see-through, which explained why I'd never worn it before. That also explained why I'd bought it. I slipped on a good pair of white cotton underwear – they were the best I could do – and then moved to hover near my closed bedroom door. The butterflies were swarming again, this time with a flurry of excitement. What would happen if I just showed up at his door wearing nothing but this?

The same nagging doubt that stopped me from kissing him earlier stopped me from going out into the hallway. He might slam the door in my face. Even if he did want me a little bit, it might not be enough. Or, worse, I might've been misreading the signals all this time. Seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was there. Wouldn't be the first time. If I tried something and he wasn't receptive, it might ruin what we had. On the other hand, maybe he was waiting for me to make the move. Or else the idea just hadn't occurred to him, but he'd be okay with it if I brought it up…

Ugh. Stupid.

Throwing on a robe but not bothering to put on gloves because the sleeves were so long, I went out into the dimly lit hallway and went straight across into the elevator. What was I thinking? This was forever, I reminded myself. I didn't need to rush things just because my panties were all in a bunch. I had to get my mind off of it.

Jones, a bowl of ice cream, and some educational programming were just what I needed. Tonight was the conclusion of the History Channel's mini-series about Richard the Lionheart's very torrid affair and angsty falling out with Philip Augustus of France. Didn't want to miss that.

Ice cream was the priority, though. When I wandered the school at night, ice cream was always the priority. Evidently, I wasn't the only one.

Dressed in a pair of wonderfully tight-fitting blue jeans and a white beater, Logan was scooping out some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into a bowl. My favorite, and a definite gesture of welcome. A mostly-eaten sandwich and bottle of Dr. Pepper lie on the bar. That meant that, in the middle of eating, he'd heard me coming, anticipated that I wanted ice cream, gotten up, and fixed me a bowl. I didn't care what anyone said, that man obviously loved me.

"Thanks, Logan," I said when he handed me my bowl.

He did his typical shrug and grunt for, "You're welcome."

I followed him around the bar to and took the seat directly next to his. I happened to glance up at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was only a little after twelve. "Usually the kitchen's pretty crowded right about now," I acknowledged. Midnight snacks were a common occurrence at the school. No one really minded as long as the students were quiet.

"It was crowded," Logan replied, eyebrow raised and lip quirked.

I grinned back, shaking my head fondly at him. "You would be proud of scaring the children."

The other side of his mouth lifted up in what passed for a full-fledged grin in Logan's book. Not a smirk or a sneer, a genuine smile that turned the color of his eyes into a soft, liquid green. And it was just for me. My heart skipped.

I'm in love with you, I thought distinctly, wishing I could just say it out loud and be done with it. I was a twenty year-old woman. I should've been able to say it. I only had courage enough for one thing, though, so, instead, I reached over and brushed my fingers on the back of his hand, which was resting on the blue-tiled counter. His fist clenched unexpectedly.

I jerked my hand back, blurting, "I'm sorry."

He sniffed and rolled his neck, Logan for, "Forget about it."

Picking up my spoon again, I ate my ice cream without enjoyment. I was used to apologizing to Logan for touching him, but this was the only time I'd done so without having hurt him first. With my free hand, I used one fingernail to poke at the grout between the tiles.

I watched with fascination as Logan took my hand in his. Gently, he rubbed his thumb across my knuckles, down along my veins. I opened my palm as he turned my hand, his thumb now tracing my lifelines. He lingered on my wrist. The jump of his pulse was perfectly in time with mine.

Apparently satisfied with that, Logan let go of my hand to reach for his Dr. Pepper. Grateful but still disappointed, I went back to eating my ice cream in silence, shoulders hunched.

"Sorry it was me," he said quietly, almost under his breath.

"There isn't anyone else."

"Sorry for that, too."

I didn't say anything. It was kind of his fault that there wasn't anyone else, in a roundabout sort of way, but it was nothing he needed to apologize for. Though, possibly, he wasn't apologizing so much as expressing his regret and pity all at the same time.

I glanced up at him to check, and was stunned to find open lust on his face. I followed his gaze down. My robe had fallen open, giving him a practically unhindered view of my chest.

"You don't look very sorry," I observed. His eyes flicked up to mine. I mimicked his eyebrow raise as best as I could, throwing in a knowing smirk for good measure. When it came right down to it, Logan wasn't that different than any of the teenage boys who'd attempted to look down my shirt.

That thought gave me an odd sort of daring, and, coupled with the definite knowledge that Logan did, in fact, want me, I was feeling pretty damned cocky. Eyeing him coyly, I licked the ice cream off my spoon, then off the corner of my mouth.

After a moment, he looked away. "You don't know what you're doing, kid."

My spoon clanked on my bowl. "Oh." Less insulted than mortified, I adopted an overly bland demeanor, saying, "I was just…It was good ice cream." I reached over and poured the melted stuff in the sink, setting the bowl down along with it. Unable to even glance at him, I got up and headed for the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait," he said.

Stopping, I turned around with an unsuccessful smile on my face. "Yes?"

Logan sighed, kneading the back of his neck. He lifted his arm in a helpless motion. "Goodnight."

"'Night," I responded perkily, exiting quickly.

I considered carrying out my earlier plan of watching the History Channel with Jones, but I wasn't in the mood anymore. Poor Philip Augustus. Richard had been totally in the wrong. If some bastard had seduced me at sixteen and then turned around years later and selfishly renounced it as a mortal sin, I would've had him castrated.

Not wanting to wait for the elevator, I took the stairs two at a time. The further away I got from Logan, the more pissed off I became. How could he say that I didn't know what I was doing? I was a damn good tease. He could just ask Bobby. I rolled my eyes. Oh, sure, being a tease was certainly something to be proud of. Idiot.

I ate up the distance to my door and shut it behind me. Shucking off my robe, I shoved myself under the covers. Nerves shot, face uncomfortably flushed, I stared hard at the ceiling, willing myself to calm down. I was not comforted by the knowledge that my little display down in the kitchen would never be brought up again. Logan and I were too good at faking normalcy. It was a big part of our problem.

My eyes had drifted shut by the time I heard my doorknob turn. I knew it was Logan but didn't move. I waited to see what he would do.

"Rogue," he murmured, coming further into my room. He lightly closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place. Working to steady my breathing, I feigned sleep so that he was forced to come closer until he was sitting on the edge of my bed. "Rogue," he repeated, lightly brushing the hair away from my mouth.

I lifted myself into a sitting position and flicked on the small lamp beside my bed. "Yeah?"

His hand stayed on my cheek, rubbing it soothingly. The expression on his face was almost of pain.

"Logan, what's wrong?" I asked anxiously, skin tingling.

"I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry."

Shrugging it off I said, "I'm not a little girl. I can handle some hurt feelings."

"You shouldn't have to. Not from me. So, I'm sorry."

I smiled a little. "I didn't expect an apology. I figured you'd drop it."

"This is too important to you. Touch. You should be able to touch me whenever you want."

I bit down hard on my tongue to stop myself from saying something implicit about invitations. Clearing my throat, I agreed. My breathing was shallow as I placed my bare hands on the warm skin stretched tight over his biceps.

Hastily, I slid my hands across his shoulders and up his neck. Before I lost my nerve, I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Light as it was, he kissed me back. For a long moment, our lips hovered mere inches apart.

Just as I was about to go in for another kiss, Logan's hand moved to cup the back of my head. I yielded willingly as he slowly drew my face closer to his. My eyes darted from his lips to his eyes, trying to commit every second of this to long-lasting memory. Our lips brushed again. Logan shifted closer to me, putting his other arm around my back so that my upper body was pressed against his. Opening my mouth for him, I lifted one hand to the nape of his neck and wrapped my other arm around his firm waist. He pulled his head back just as I was getting used to mimicking the movements of his tongue. Stroking my hair, he rested his bristly cheek on mine.

"Damn it, I should go," he murmured, pressing his lips to my temple.

"Don't," I replied, knowing full well what would happen if he stayed and, worse, what would happen if I allowed him to leave.

Logan loosened his hold and leaned back, still caressing my neck. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

I looked at him levelly. "Then why'd you lock the door?"

He turned his head and grimaced, no answer for that. At least, no answer he wished to give. He didn't want to take advantage of me, and I respected him for that. I just had to convince him he wasn't.

Raising my hands, I placed them under is chin and gently urged his face back toward mine. When he relented and opened his eyes, I said, "Logan, I want you to stay." For my benefit as much as his, I added, "It's okay. I'm in love with you." Despite my overwhelming nervousness, I managed to pull off a reassuring smile.

His expression wavered before settling on one of determination. Untangling himself from my grasp, he stood up and flipped the covers off of me in one fluid motion. I stared up at him wide-eyed, utterly aware that my nightgown hid nothing. Logan moved his eyes up my body. I could feel myself flush everywhere his gaze touched.

He watched my face intently while his hands moved down to unbuckle his belt. My muscles tensed and my stomach quivered. Tossing the belt aside, he slipped off his boots. Enthralled, I barely blinked as he undressed further, until he was standing before me clad in nothing but a pair of black briefs that didn't leave much to the imagination.

Kneeling on the bed, he bent over to clamp his mouth onto mine. I was lost to sensation after that. I hadn't touched or been touched in so long, and never like this. Logan caressed me everywhere, and my hands roamed his body just as freely. I was trembling violently, almost spastically. It wasn't particularly elegant, but that's what Logan did to me. At once passionately demanding and heartbreakingly tender, he sent me spiraling through waves of agonized yearning and pure ecstasy.

I let go of a lot – inhibition, reticence, fantasy, expectation – and everything left I gave to Logan. In return, I got the opportunity to feel like the only person of consequence in his whole life.

And afterward, he gathered me into his muscular arms as he collapsed on his side. Lazily, he ran his fingers through my tousled hair and dropped kisses on any part of me that he could reach. Utterly content, I nestled in closer, his chest pushing against mine with each deep breath he took. The steady rhythm was incredibly soothing. I gave myself over to the comfort of his arms and my own fatigue as I let myself fall slowly into sleep.


	13. Tempered Melancholy, 5

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap ~_

I had a horrifying dream that morning. Actually, it was more of an image. One of waking up next to Logan's cold and lifeless corpse.

"Jesus Christ," I hissed, pressing my forehead to his chest so that I could feel the heartbeat there for myself. I wasn't fond of that particularly profanity, but my nightmare had certainly merited strong feelings. Before I could calm down, I had to remind myself over and over that as long as I still had his healing power it was safe to touch him, and even if I lost that he would still be able to break loose at any time. I wasn't poisonous to him.

Blowing out a long breath, I tried to snuggle into a comfortable position but was too wired to fall back asleep. I pulled myself into a sitting position carefully so as not to disturb him. Awe was the predominate feeling I got when I looked at him, followed closely by pride. He was so gorgeous and so perfect, and he was sharing my bed. I, on the other hand, was uncombed and, well, sticky. I wanted my first post-coitus impression to be a good one, so I got up to go into the bathroom. I winced a little as I walked. I'd never been happier to be so sore in my life.

Not wanting to miss a moment, I made sure my shower was the quickest possible. Bushing my teeth while drying off proved to be difficult but manageable. I pulled out a brand-new toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and put it on the sink for Logan to use, and then took my morning pill with relish. The school was finally getting its money's worth after all those years of taking it simply because everyone else was.

Logan was seemingly still sleeping when I crept out of the bathroom. I threw off my towel before I got under the covers and back into his arms.

"Mm," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "You're wet."

"And you're warm," I replied blissfully. Pushing myself up on one elbow, I made no effort to hide my all-out grin. "Good morning."

Logan didn't say anything. There was tenseness behind his eyes that made my grin lose some of its wattage. He lifted his hand to play with my white bangs. Finally, he heaved a sigh that sound a lot like, "Oh, kid."

Uh-uh, no. Not happening. Not now, not anymore. We were past the patronizing, pseudo-big brother stage. Determined to prove that, I bit the corner of my lip slyly and trailed a finger down his downy, well-built chest.

Groaning, he caught my hand in his and lifted it up to his mouth. "Don't do that," he said, kissing the back of my knuckles.

"Why not? I'm pretty good at it," I reminded him, pleased with my own boldness.

He pursed his lips, a touch of sadness in his expression. I took it as disappointment and reddened. The man I loved, the man who'd taken my virginity, had just succeeded in making me feel like a slut. Wasn't that something.

"What are you thinking?" I wanted to know, the teasing gone out of my voice.

"That's the problem. I am thinking," Logan grumbled, bouncing the back of his head against the headboard.

"Well, you should stop. Indefinitely," I advised in an attempt at levity. That didn't work, so it was time to go on defense. "You can't take it back."

"Don't you think I know that?" His voice had a hard edge to it.

I gathered the sheet around me, rising to his anger. "But you would if you could, right? Well, I wouldn't."

"You'll want to. Someday, you will."

"No. I'm not like you. When I make a choice I stick with it. I'm honest."

"Honest? What about all your talk about not bowing to compromise? This is compromise. This isn't what you want, some one-night stand the first time you can get it."

Coldly, I said, "Is that what last night was."

"I never made you any promises."

"You promised to take care of me. Now who's the liar?"

Bull's-eye. My blind punch, my reflexive need to prove my cunning by turning any opponent's argument against him had hit home with Logan. The anger left him and in its place was naked self-loathing.

Feeling horrible, I asked softly, "Why are we fighting?"

"Because I made a mistake."

I valiantly held back the tears that stung my eyes. I couldn't cry. Little girls who got taken advantage of cried. Grown women who took responsibility for their own actions did not. I put my chin up resolutely.

"Come on now, Logan. If we're going to have to chalk this up to regret, at least let me have my fair share of the blame. You owe me that much." My voice was as strong as I could make it, but not nearly as strong as I would've liked. "Actually, I deserve most of it. It was me who lured you into bed, right? You weren't thinking, but I was. I'm the one who wanted this. Really wanted it, I mean."

Logan turned his head. "Don't, Rogue."

"What? What am I supposed to say? Thanks for the ride? I'm not like that. Please don't think I'm like that."

"I treated you like that," he stated flatly, his gaze somewhere near the door.

"Are treating me like that. Present tense. I just can't understand why. Don't you love me?"

His jaw clenched and unclenched. "You know I do, kid." With that, he got out of bed. I thought he would get dressed and leave, but he went around the bed to the bathroom. He gave me that much courtesy, at least.

I listened to him take his shower, wavering between despair, confusion, and anger. He loved me, I loved him; he was attracted to me, I was attracted to him. There were no better grounds for a relationship. Logan's attitude didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. His inconsistency wasn't exactly an adult trait, yet it was my maturity that was constantly on trial, not his. Provided I reached my so-called peak the same time as he did, I was going to catch up to his physical age pretty damned quick, and he'd do well to look out.

Was that what it was going to take? Did I have to wait until I was in my thirties before I could be his equal? Or was it futile? Should I just give in and let him coddle me for the rest of my life? That would be worse than compromise. That would be a lie.

"What're you doing?" Logan asked from the bathroom door, breaking me out of my long trance.

I didn't turn around. "The real question is what we're going to do."

"Christ. I don't know. I need to think."

"Wonderful. You thinking always bodes well for me."

"I don't need sarcasm," he snapped.

"Look, I can either be pissed off or I can be weepy. Granted, they're both sucky choices, but they're all I got right now, so just lay off."

Way to be a whiny bitch, Rogue. Way to go. Disgusted with myself, I bit down on the sheet to keep from crying or yelling or both. I hated this. I hated to be emotional. Balance was supposed to be my mantra.

Unexpectedly, I felt Logan lean directly over my shoulder. I turned to look, but he was still standing in the bathroom doorframe. The sense of closeness didn't fade. I could literally feel how torn Logan was. The annoyed part of him itched to leave. The bigger part, the part that loved me, yearned to make it all better. But the one thing that could do that was something he was unwilling to give for various, intangible reasons that I couldn't quite understand even as I experienced them with him. A mixture of shame, lust, and uncertainty shrouded a profound sense of failure.

The intimate presence slid away, leaving me less composed then I had been before. Bottom line: he didn't share my happiness. At least, not today, the optimist in me qualified. The possibilities were open now. And this time I wasn't about to give up. This time it was real and it mattered.

There was a sudden knock on my door. "Rogue, you up?" It was Bobby. He turned the knob unsuccessfully. "Hey, why's the door locked?

Logan's tense posture told me that he didn't want to be found here. Looking directly at Logan, I answered Bobby, "I'm getting dressed."

"Well, that's good 'cause there's an X-Men meeting in the Professor's study. Something big."

Our attention, both Logan's and mine, went to the closed door. "What do you mean big?"

"I'm not sure. I'm just messenger boy. I have to go find Logan and Storm, so I'll meet you down there."

"Know anything about this?" I asked Logan, taking my sheet with me toward my dresser.

"No clue. Guess we'll find out," he replied, heading over to where his clothes lay discarded on my floor.

We dressed wordlessly. He didn't look my way once, so I played it cool and tried not to take peeks at him, even though my eyes were drawn to his form. Logan's willpower was uncommonly strong, I hated to admit. Then again, he'd already seen what I had to offer. The novelty had probably worn off.

Frustrated, I abused the hangers in my closet. Would the doubts never cease?

Bobby knocked on my closed door again. "Hey, Rogue, Logan's not in his room, so if you see him will you tell him about the meeting?"

"If I see him," I returned with a hint of irony, throwing Logan a glance.

Logan went to his room to retrieve an over-shirt once he was sure Bobby was safely on the elevator. I would've gone with him, but he told me tersely to go meet Bobby. I complied only to stop myself from making snippy comments that would undermine my maturity resolution.

Bobby was waiting for me downstairs when the elevator doors opened. "I still haven't found Logan," he informed me. "Any idea where he is?"

"Yeah, he's coming. I saw him in the hall upstairs."

"Good. He's the one the Professor most needs to see about this."

"What is this, exactly?" I asked, walking beside him.

"I'm not sure. These two women from Vietnam, they just showed up this morning."

"Mutants?"

"That's what they say. They've been talking with Cyclops and the Professor all morning. I had to teach Cyclops's first period driver's ed class for him."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Not fun. The Professor really needs to look into hiring more teachers. There're way too many new students this semester. Wagner's covering Storm's world history class right now."

By that time, we'd reached the study door. Bobby knocked once and then ushered me through. A youngish, professionally dressed woman was seated next to Professor Xavier, nursing a cup of tea. Cyclops and the other woman were hovering vigilantly in the background near the open windows. Storm was sitting in the chair opposite one of Professor Xavier's many elaborate chessboards.

"Have a seat. Logan will be along shortly," the Professor told us, motioning us toward the sofa.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after we'd sat down, Logan walked through the door and shut it behind him. I didn't expect him to take the seat beside me since he always preferred standing. I was glad he didn't. That would've been way too much of a distraction. It was hard enough not to think of the elephant as it was.

Oh, God. Blank white wall, I thought wildly. Telepath in the room. Not a vir – Blank white wall. Blank white wall. Telepath in the – Goddamn it, blank white wall!

I sincerely hoped that the Professor would ignore my treacherous, screaming brain. As far as I could tell, he did. That calmed me down quite a bit. I was actually able to pay attention as he started the introductions. "Ms. Xi'an, Ms. Long, these are the remaining members of our team. Bobby Drake, also called Iceman, Rogue, and Logan."

"The Wolverine," the woman near the window stated, her piercing green eyes fixed on him.

I looked to Logan for signs of recognition. There was only guarded curiosity.

"It's good to meet you all," the other woman replied in accented tones. "My name is Mahn Coy Xi'an and this is Nguyen Thi Long." Her eyes flicked toward the Professor. "Also called Karma and Dragon."

The Professor smiled faintly before addressing us. "Ms. Mahn and Ms. Nguyen are associated with Tokuzawa Ichiro's mutant rights activists in Japan. He suggested that the we were better equipped to assist them."

"Tokuzawa-sensei spoke very highly of you, Professor," Karma replied graciously.

"Assist them with what?" Logan questioned.

I smiled to myself because I loved it when he cut through the pleasantries. It made these tedious meetings go so much quicker.

But of course, of course – little did I know.


	14. Tempered Melancholy, 6

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ You Can't Always Get What You Want ~_

Karma looked at the Professor, who gave her a slight nod. Setting down her teacup and saucer on one of the end tables, she began, "Long and myself have been working with the Japanese mutant rights activists for just under a year, since we fled our home country of Vietnam. I don't know how much you know of Vietnam, but I will tell you that the conditions there are very poor. The economy has been steadily plummeting since Duong Duc Danh took over the Presidency and turned it into a dictatorship six years ago.

"After that, the U.S. revoked their Bilateral Trade Agreement. More than fifty percent of the population now lives below the poverty line. The only steady means of employment are in opium production and the People's Army. Duong Duc Danh comes from long line of military generals. His objective is more power, both for himself and for Vietnam. Recently, he's come up with an idea for a new means of gaining wealth and prestige. He's closed off the boarders and is preparing to deal in arms – that is, mutants."

Bobby's eyes went wide. "He's going to sell people? I thought discrimination was bad here."

"It's not about discrimination, Bobby," Professor Xavier put in. "It's about exploitation."

Karma continued, "Mutants in Vietnam are valued for the glory we can bring to the country. There has been a Registration Act similar to the one you are currently fighting in place for decades. When mutants reach the age of fifteen, they begin training in the Army, and the government gives their families income, which is what happened to my twin brother Tran and myself. Male mutants are encouraged to have as many children as possible to increase the population. Some of these children, like Long, begin their training from infancy and are given drugs to speed up the manifestation of their powers."

I glanced over at Dragon, whose face had gone to stone. Bobby and I exchanged an uncomfortable look, both of us harboring sad images of the childhood she must have endured.

"Most mutants in the programs were volunteers. However, once it was discovered that our families were not receiving the promised income, there were talks of rebellion. I can remember discussing this with Tran, but the rest is unclear, like all my memories of the twelve years before Long and I left. Our memories are returning slowly. The clearest is the final year we spent in Vietnam. That was when the mind control began to run out." Karma lifted her long, black hair and twisted to show us the circular scar on the back of her neck.

"Scott," the Professor prompted.

Turning, he pulled down his collar to reveal his own scar.

"For the past two years," the Professor made clear, "the mutant program in Vietnam has been falling apart as a result of the loss of their former leader. William Stryker."

"Stryker," Logan echoed in a growl.

"But why?" Storm asked. "Stryker was a military scientist and an officer in the Vietnam War. Why would he work with Communists?"

The Professor answered, "Stryker's lab at Alkali Lake proves that he never fully trusted the Vietnamese government. I have no doubt that Stryker intended to use whatever knowledge he gained from them for what he believed was the good of the United States. He was also of the opinion that mutants have their purpose – as long as they can be controlled. That was where Jason came in. But once both father and son were gone, the resources quickly dried up and the Vietnamese lost control.

"However, they seem to have found not only a new way of controlling mutant minds but a new financial backer as well. If we're to stop Duong Duc Danh from selling mutants and their powers to terrorist states, then we must find out the identity of the backer and the means of control. This information is doubtlessly housed in the military complex where the mutants receive their training."

"Where's the complex?" Logan asked.

"In the northwest, in the jungle. Fan Si Pan can be seen from south side of the base," Dragon answered coolly, still giving Logan the evil eye.

"Fan Si Pan is the highest peak in Vietnam. Could you be more specific?" Logan responded sardonically. I was momentarily impressed by his geographic knowledge. Looked like all those evenings of watching _Jeopardy!_ had paid off.

Karma shook her head. "Unfortunately, that's all we can remember about the location. On top of that, it's extremely difficult to get into Vietnam in the first place. Long and I are prepared to try, but we need someone to go with us, someone who can handle themselves."

"Someone with a security clearance," Dragon amended.

Storm, Bobby, and I looked at Logan questioningly. His brow furrowed. "You mean me?"

Dragon's response was clipped. "I doubt they went to all of the trouble to take your clearance off the computers after you left, especially since they had so little respect for your intelligence in the first place."

It hit me hard in the gut. Logan had been part of this project. I'd always vaguely known that he had worked with Stryker in some capacity. This was specific. These two women knew him and, judging by Dragon's attitude, probably hated him.

"This mission is for you, Logan," the Professor told him.

Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded curtly.

"I must warn you, it will be long and trying and might bring up facets of your past that you've deemed best remain buried."

"How long is long?" I had to cut in.

"It all depends on how long it takes us to find the base," Karma answered. "Could be months…years."

I was floored, but Logan was still game.

"Good," the Professor settled. "There's no time to lose. You'll leave this afternoon on a flight to Thailand and continue on your own from there." He addressed the rest of us, saying, "Since we're letting go of one of our team members for such an extended period of time, I would like to propose bringing Jubilation Lee, Peter Rasputin, Julian Keller, and Kitty Pride into the X-Men as permanent members. Anyone apposed? Excellent. We'll have another meeting discussing that tomorrow. Logan, you stay for further details about the mission, but the rest of you can get back to class. The flight leaves in three hours, if you'd like time to say goodbye." He looked directly at me when he said that.

"Wait, wait," I said, finally finding my voice. "Professor, I'd like to volunteer to go along on the mission. I mean, three people to do all that?"

"Three people is enough, if it's the right three people," the Professor replied in a soothing tone.

"And if we did need more, it wouldn't be you going along," Logan said flatly.

"Why, too dangerous?" I sneered.

"Yes. And you'd be no use."

My teeth snapped together audibly. I wanted to reach over and use Bobby's power to freeze Logan into a block of ice, or take Storm's and electrocute him with a bolt of lightning. I couldn't because I would hurt them in the process. It infuriated me that, while he had hundreds of ways to destroy me, I didn't have a single power over him anymore. Everything had a price.

"Professor?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Rogue."

I left the room, jostling Logan with my shoulder on the way.

What he'd said had been true. I wouldn't be any use to the mission. I'd just slow them down. "But he didn't have to be so fucking mean about it," I snarled loudly when the elevator doors had shut tight.

I was angry, no doubt, but the worst part was that it was anger driven by desperation. Logan was leaving for a long, trying, dangerous mission with two women no one had even questioned whether or not could be trusted and without anyone to watch his back. And there was nothing I could do but let him. I hated it.

Striding out of the elevator and down the hall, I threw open Logan's bedroom door unceremoniously. With brusque efficiency, I pulled his two duffle bags and backpack down from the top of his closet and began to pack for him. I put the essentials in the backpack and filled the duffle bags with less important stuff he could get rid of on the way.

As pissed off as I was, I still needed to give him something of mine, so I quickly went to my room and grabbed a picture I had pinned to my bulletin board. It was a shot of Logan and me at Christmas dinner last year that Kitty had taken with her digital camera. He had a bottle of beer hanging from his fingers and an amused smile on his face as he looked over at me. I was grinning back. Nothing special really, but it was rare to catch Logan on camera doing anything but frowning. I made him happy. I wanted him to remember that.

I had safely stowed away the picture in his backpack and was just folding the final pair of jeans to add to his duffle bag when he came into the room. He said, "You don't have to that."

"People don't always just do what they have to. Sometimes they do what they want to."

"You don't want to pack for me. You don't want me to go at all."

Arrogant bastard. In spite of myself, I laughed. "No, you're right. I don't. But it's awful damn convenient for you, though."

"I didn't plan this. I would've had to go either way."

He was talking about last night. I was surprised he remembered. "Still," I said, "you have to admit, the timing's perfect. No, it's okay. When things get too complicated, you cut and run. I understand. I used to be just like that. But then I grew up."

"You're not the reason I'm going. I have to go."

I ignored that. It didn't fit in well with my air of superiority. "Make sure I didn't forget to pack anything important," I told him, zipping up the duffle bag. "I'll meet you in the garage in twenty minutes. I'm driving you to the airport." I tried to push past him, but he caught my elbows.

"Let's not leave it like this," he said, his hands stroking the bare skin between my sleeves and gloves.

I closed my eyes tightly, wishing his touch didn't mean so much.

"Talk to me, Rogue."

I opened my eyes directly. "When you said you needed to think, did you ever even consider that we could be together? Or was that not even a possibility for you?"

His expression answered for him. It wasn't.

Pulling his face to mine, I pressed my lips hard against his. I stepped back when he started to respond. "Stop," I said, forgetting that I had been the one to kiss him. "It hurts."

"Why can't we just go back to the way it was?"

"Why can't we just be together?"

Logan broke eye contact, moving further into his room. "We're both too stubborn, I guess."

"Yeah. I guess so."

I meant to leave. I couldn't. Years, Karma had said. One or five, I wondered.

Logan came out of the bathroom empty-handed. I must've done a good job packing. I put his backpack on and let him carry the duffle bags. Though it was on the little heavy side for me, the backpack would do just fine for him. "You should buy bug spray before you go," I advised, already worrying.

"The Professor took care of it."

"Right. Of course."

After that, there was lunch to be eaten and people who wanted to say good luck, and directions to be given and followed. The tension and awkwardness between us built steadily and without much cause until I pulled the SUV up to the main entrance of the Westchester Country airport. Like Logan, I didn't want to leave it like this. What could I say?

I watched him unload the bags from the back, and politely said goodbye to Karma and Dragon. Logan didn't follow them. "You coming inside?" he asked.

"I don't think so." I would cry if I had to prolong this any further.

"Well, this is it, then. Anything you need to get off your chest?"

"You're an asshole," I said promptly, and had to smile when he gave me the eyebrow. "But I still love you."

"Listen," he said almost earnestly. "You be careful while I'm gone. Do your job, but don't try and be a hero or anything. Got it?"

"Same to you."

"Not much chance of that."

"Of what, being a hero? Don't be stupid, you know you are one."

His arms came around me then, and he kissed my forehead. "I'm gonna miss you, kid."

I hugged him back tightly, wanting more than anything to never have to let him go.


	15. Tempered Melancholy, 7

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Give It Up ~_

Even though Logan was gone, it still felt like he was with me. There was consolation in that fact, but it made his physical absence all the more painful. The simple memory of pressing my cheek against his bare chest caused my throat to clench.

I'd like to say that my missing him didn't stop me from living my life, but that would be a lie. Really all I was doing was waiting. Things around the school changed here and there. More teachers were hired, more students enrolled. Classes got harder, rescue missions got more frequent.

At first, it was jarring to have to alter so many of the little routines I was used to. I trained with Storm now, mostly focusing on practical matters like piloting the Blackbird. It was Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Peter, Keller, and me for the longest time, until Keller started dating Sierra Berlanti and I started leaving myself out of a lot of group activities. Instead, I took over Logan's monopolization of the Danger Room, read more books, and spent more time with Kurt. I wasn't bouncing off the walls with exuberant joy, but I honestly wasn't depressed. No one seemed to believe that, though.

"You think I could sleep like this, Anna Marie?" Kurt asked me jovially one afternoon a full nine months after Logan had left. Kurt was hanging by his tail from the rafters directly above my head like a giant, blue, wingless bat dressed in a white dress shirt and slacks.

I tilted my head back and smiled up at him because that was the reaction he was looking for. "I don't know. You might fall."

"Ach, you insult me. I'm perfectly at ease this way. It's good for my posture."

Ruefully, I straightened up from my slouch. I turned my attention back to grading the German I multiple-choice tests and berating myself for not being able to understand even the simplest directions.

Accompanied by the requisite "bamf" noise, Kurt appeared beside me in a smoky blue haze. Jumping into a back flip, he ended up in a one-arm handstand, balancing on the edge of the desk I was working on. "Ta-da," he announced, flipping back to his feet.

Clapping appreciatively, I laughed as he bowed in mock humility.

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Would you like to try it yourself?"

The offer caught me off guard. "I…It would hurt you."

"No matter." He stuck out his three-fingered hand, adding as an incentive, "I'll teach you my best tricks."

Guiltily, I peeled off my long glove and stood up to take his hand. Slow and easy, I chided myself. But it was impossible to concentrate on just his power. His trusting nature left everything open. For a moment, I saw myself standing there through his eyes. That scared me into jerking back. Seeing that he was teetering on his feet, I pulled my chair around so he could sit down.

"Dank."

"Es tut mir leid," I apologized.

His eyes opened wide. "What did you – " Gasping, he cut himself off.

"What's wrong," I inquired, my skin itching uncomfortably. My eyes followed my fingers to my bare arm as I scratched. The skin there darkened and changed color under my gaze. "Whoa." I rubbed the back of my hand, half-expecting the blue to smear like paint. Hardly realizing what I was doing, I bamfed through the open door to Kurt's room and then into the bathroom. "Oh, wow." My reflection in the mirror was eerily altered. My eyes and teeth were the same; they just looked different against my glittering, navy blue skin.

"Anna Marie, are you all right?" Kurt asked me from outside the bathroom.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answered, coming out of the open door. I was slightly shaken but unwilling to let on. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. It's pretty awesome."

Kurt visibly relaxed. "You think so?"

"Ja." I frowned. "Spreche ich Deutsch?"

"Sehr gut," Kurt complimented, and then ruined it by joking, "Es ist ein Wunder."

I almost was offended, until I remembered how bad my German usually was. "Yeah, it is kind of a miracle."

There must've been some biological advantage to blue skin because, unlike the bamfing power that lasted only a half hour or so, it took close to three and a half days for the blue pigmentation to fade. It was strange how easily I got used to it, but it took others by surprise.

"Oh my God, you're blue," was Flea's astonished response when we almost ran into each other in the hallway outside the library.

I narrowed my eyes at him, smirking, "Good call, Sherlock."

As I walked away, I heard Nicole smack him on the arm and say, "You are such a jerk. And you wonder why Laurel doesn't want to be in the band with you."

"No, hey, I didn't mean it like that. It's just, she's not normally blue, you know?"

"You're always mean to her for no good reason. Grow up," Nicole shot back, echoing the universal cry of women everywhere.

I didn't stick around for the rest of the conversation, but later that day I got another mix slid under my door. The note attached read, "Don't mind me and my big, fat mouth. I'm a worthless flea. Travis Ryan." I popped in the CD and laughed because the first song was The Ramones, "Beat on the Brat." Along the same vein, track two was "Sympathy for the Devil" by The Rolling Stones. As I had suspected, the third track was "Mississippi Queen."

Taking the library's copy of Kate Chopin's _The Awakening_ off my desk, I settled in for a relaxing Friday with a classic novel, some great music, and a pack of mini-Oreos.

My door flung open of its own accord. "Hello, hello," Keller enthused, striding into my room, all grins and angular features. "Don't you look Smurf-tastically beautiful this fine afternoon." The book flew out of my hands and landed bouncily on my mattress. "Definitely too pretty to stay at home."

"Let me guess. You and Sierra are on the rocks again, and you need a fill-in date."

Keller was horrified. "How dare you find me predictable. As a matter of fact, Sierra and I are madly in love, yadda, yadda, yadda. Copyright of Hallmark."

"No you're not."

"Okay, so we're not. But we know how to go out and have a fun time. You remember fun."

"I remember you being annoying a lot, but the rest is kind of hazy," I retorted, reaching my hand into the package of Oreos.

"Aw, you're like Cookie Monster, only your eyes aren't all googly and on the top of your head."

"Ha, ha. I'm blue. Funny. Get over it."

"The ribbing is part of being a minority, as temporary as it may be for you. Go ahead, try an Arab joke. Or, hey, I'm also half-Irish and short. Would you laugh at a wee leprechaun dance?"

"Go away," I sighed grandly, not bothering to point out that just being a mutant made me a minority.

"Afraid I can't. I am here on official X-Men business. We, meaning all of us, have just scored the best mission ever. One week's paid vacation in sunny southern California. The City of Angels, to be precise. So let's get to packing, little girl. We leave now."

So much for relaxing.

"I hate to spoil your excitement, but if the Professor is sending us there on such short notice then that means something's up. This is not a vacation."

"Well, okay, so we do have to look into some minor disturbances around the Brentwood school, but it's just teenagers with too much power and not enough discipline. Kid's stuff. We crack the whip, ship them back here if necessary, and we're golden." Eyes focused, he telekinetically opened my closet doors, rolled out my suitcase, and began filling it with perfectly folded clothes.

"Keller, you amaze me."

"No, it's Dr. McCoy who's amazing. He's been helping me increase my power with that Power Boost stuff. Just a little bit, though. Nothing dangerous. And, er, not enough to make me furry. He's too careful for that. For real though, I don't know how any of us would function around here without him. It's the little things, you know? The medicine, the serums, the gadgets. He makes life so much easier."

"That's true. If it weren't for his little anti-metal detector chip, Logan wouldn't be able to fly commercial."

"Still no word from 'Nam?" Keller inquired, his tone carefully neutral.

I flinched inwardly, wishing I hadn't slipped and brought up Logan. It never failed to make people feel sorry for me. Casually as possible, I replied, "We can't really expect it. It's tough to get reception in the middle of the jungle. He's fine, though. He can take care of himself."

"Of course he can," Keller agreed a little too readily, finishing up with my clothes. "I'll let you pack your feminine unmentionables."

"Thanks," I snickered, getting out of bed and heading into my bathroom.

A thirty minute briefing and fifteen minute drive later, I once again found myself at the entrance to Westchester County Airport in White Plains.

"Here're the tickets," Cyclops said, handing them over to Bobby and giving him some extra instructions.

As always, Cyclops was putting Bobby in charge. It was such a natural thing that I never questioned it at first, but ever since Keller, Jubilee, Peter, and Kitty became full-fledged X-Men, it had become apparent to me that, despite being an X-Man for longer, I was an afterthought in all of Cyclops's careful, strategic planning. Even so, he made sure I trained twice as hard as everyone else. A team's only as strong as it's weakest link, and he thought that link was me. Man, did that ever burn.

Already privately irritated by that, it made the stares I got even more aggravating. Just being a mutant was one thing; being an obvious mutant was quite another. Unsurprisingly, my bags were checked more extensively than anybody else's in line and, on board, the stewardesses kept a wary eye on me since obvious mutants were seen as the extreme terrorists of the mutant community.

Pointedly ignoring everyone else – including my friends – I buried my nose in _The Awakening_ and didn't look up until we had to get off at O'Hare to get on the connecting flight to Los Angeles. I slept the whole way to LAX

Sullen, withdrawn – Dare I say emo? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was stretching the definition of "fine" to its limits.


	16. Tempered Melancholy, 8

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Get Off Of My Cloud ~_

After picking up our baggage, we were met at the airport by the Dean of Brentwood School for Gifted Youngsters, a trim man in his early thirties holding up a sign that read, "Xavier: Party of Six."

"We're from Xavier's Institute," Bobby said, shaking the dean's hand.

"Ah, excellent. I'm Rodrigo Vivar."

"El Cid," Kitty remarked, surprising herself.

"That's what the kids call me. It's nice to see that Spanish history hasn't been neglected out on the east coast," the dean replied, giving her a friendly wink. "And your name?"

"Kitty Pryde. And, um, this is Bobby Drake, Jubilation Lee, Peter Rasputin, Julian Keller, and Rogue."

El Cid shook our hands one at a time, stopping to give me a warm smile. "Just Rogue?"

"Just Rogue," I echoed, thinking he had compassionate eyes.

"Well, it's good to have you here, all of you. This way."

Bobby shifted his big, black duffle bag higher on his shoulder so he could carry one of Kitty's suitcases for her. Meanwhile, Peter effortlessly took on all three of Jubilee's heavy suitcases, plus his own unwieldy duffle bag. And looked damned good doing it, I had to acknowledge when Jubilee threw me an "ooh, baby" look. To use her words, Peter was a man of few words but many, many strengths.

Wagging his eyebrows, Keller held out his suitcase to me. "Have at it."

"Thought you'd never ask," I replied, dumping mine into his outstretched arms and trailing after the group.

Accepting my suitcase, Keller said drolly, "Gee, Elmo, that was clever and unexpected."

"Grover, you moron. Elmo is red."

"You know the most worthless things."

"Shut it."

Once outside in the parking lot, Keller put our suitcases in the back of the van and I stuffed my backpack on the top of the pile. Climbing inside, he crowded in the way back between Bobby and Kitty. "Scoot over. I don't want to sit by Rogue. She's grumpy."

"What's wrong?" Bobby wanted to know immediately.

"Nothing's wrong," I answered tersely, buckling up in one of the bucket seats. Jubilee took the other one and Peter got shotgun.

"Have you had dinner? We could stop somewhere," El Cid offered.

"We ate at O'Hare," Bobby declined, speaking up from the back.

They continued with some small talk about our seven-hour trip. Closing my eyes, I pressed my forehead against the warm window. I liked riding in cars. It was soothing. I let my attention waver in out of the conversation happening around me, only catching part of the explanation about how Brentwood had recently lost several of its older kids to a hostile pro-mutant organization that had set up shop downtown a few months back, calling themselves the Coalition for Mutant Supremacy. We already knew this, of course, but everyone else listened politely anyway.

The Brentwood school, only a year old, was one of eight schools that the Professor had organized around the world, the oldest of which was Tokuzawa Ichiro's in Tokyo. Brentwood was different from our school in a lot of ways. No jets, for example, and no X-Men. It also had, surprisingly, a much smaller enrollment. LA was the central haven for runaway mutants, though, unfortunately, a lot of them would rather fend for themselves than have to abide by house rules. Still, the Professor and the Vivars were confident that enrollment would grow in time.

But this Coalition moving in had the potential to be a major setback. Not to mention dangerous. A whole group of them, including three ex-Brentwood students, had been jailed just the day before for attacking anti-mutant protestors outside City Hall. Violent Coalition response was expected – hence our presence.

The school rested on the northern hills of Brentwood. From what I could see, the grounds weren't very big, but the mansion itself was about the same size as our school. It looked more modern with its white pillars and large glass windows. Stepping through the front door, the first thing I noticed was the huge, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The renovations to make it more like a school weren't complete yet so it felt like I was walking into someone's house.

A short, plump woman came down the black and white marble staircase, a soft glow around her. "Hello."

El Cid introduced her grandly, "This is my beautiful Luz, the light of the world."

She laughed off the introduction, getting brighter as she blushed.

"Luz, this is Kitty, Peter, Jubilation, Keller, Bobby, and Rogue."

"It's very nice to meet you," she replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"Where's la princesa?" El Cid asked his wife.

"I just got her to sleep."

"Oh," Bobby said, setting down Kitty's suitcase so he could dig around in his duffel bag. "I have presents for Juliana from the Professor, Scott, and Storm."

"More gifts," Luz exclaimed happily.

"She's going to be so spoiled we're not going to be able to live with her," El Cid laughed, taking the three brightly wrapped boxes from Bobby. "We'll have to send along thank you cards."

"We can do better than that," Luz scoffed, turning nostalgic. "I haven't talked to Ororo in so long."

Luz, I knew from the briefing, had been one of Professor Xavier's first students, along with Strom, Cyclops, and Dr. Grey. A California native, Luz had left the school when she'd been accepted to Stanford, and then went into the Peace Corps where she'd met El Cid – who was not a mutant and whose only power lie in his charm and connections around LA. When they'd come back to the city, they'd worked as teachers in Boyle Heights before approaching Professor Xavier with the idea of starting a school for mutants out on the west coast.

"How is Scott?" Luz inquired hesitantly. "It'll be three years this October. Is he…is he seeing anyone, do you know?"

"He's keeping busy," Bobby answered non-specifically.

"Good, good," El Cid put in. "Uh, well, let me take you to your rooms so you can put your things away."

A lot of the rooms were empty, probably enough for each of us to have our own room, yet Jubilee, Kitty, and I still ended up sharing a dorm-style bedroom.

"It's just like old times," Kitty remarked, tossing her suitcase on the closest bed. She started over toward the bathroom, but Jubilee beat her to it. Derisively, Kitty repeated, "Just like old times."

Chuckling through a yawn, I flopped down on an empty bed and stretched contentedly.

Kitty said, "You can't be tired. It's only seven o'clock."

"It's ten o'clock back home," I pointed out.

"That's not late. Besides, you slept on the plane. Come on. Seriously. Come downstairs with us to meet everybody. It'll be fun."

"No, that's okay. I'm fine here. Really."

It took some prodding to get Kitty and Jubilee to leave without me. When I was finally alone, I started reading _The Awakening_ again. I was determined to finish it that night, even though I was well on my way to hating the protagonist, Edna Pontellier. I found her temperamental, selfish, and more and more unlikable as the book wore on. I had made it to the conclusion just before Bobby came in, and couldn't help but think of Edna, Serves you right, you stupid broad.

"Hey," he said, sitting on the bed next to the one I was on.

Putting my book down, I forced myself to smile when I replied, "Hey."

"We got a lead. A couple of the dropouts just came back. They left the Coalition a few days ago because they said it was getting too real. They came back because they know the plan for tomorrow."

"The Coalition plan? What is it?"

"They're not one hundred percent."

"Positive or reliable?"

"Well, neither," Bobby smiled. "But they say that something's going to happen at Dodger Stadium. There's a game tomorrow at one, so we're guessing that's when. El Cid already called his friend on the LAPD, and we're gonna go too. The school has season tickets, so it'll be no problem. I ran it by the Professor and Scott, and they said that's what we should do."

Scott. The whole first-name basis thing was still a bit jarring to me. Likely because I was jealous. Bobby was the protégé. I was nobody.

One thing goes wrong in my life, and suddenly it becomes mandatory for me to tear down the rest of it just for the sake of balance. Certainly not my finest trait.

Through my teeth, I said, "All right. Sounds good. Thanks for telling me."

Bobby didn't have any intention of leaving. "Your skin's lighter than before," he remarked.

"Yeah, I think it's finally clearing up. It's been two days."

He nodded, drumming his fingers on his knee. "So."

Oh, great. "So, what?"

"So, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. I told you before."

"Then why are you up here when everyone else is down there?" Not letting me answer, he pressed on, "Why do you always say no when I ask you to go out?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't like being the seventh wheel."

"I mean when it's just you and me. You won't go out. All we do is stay at home and watch movies."

"I like movies."

"You're missing the point. You always want to be by yourself."

"That is not true. If I'm not with you, I'm training or with Kurt. I never get to be alone."

"'Get to be alone.' That's what I'm talking about. You want to be alone, and that's what's wrong."

"So, it's wrong to want a little bit of privacy now and then? Geez. Excuse me for not spending my every waking moment with you. I didn't know I was supposed to."

"Rogue, I'm trying to really talk to you here. I know you miss Logan – "

"Oh, come on."

"You come on. You're not acting like yourself. You're acting like him. You're being him."

"God, ever since I told you about that stupid yam thing nothing is mine anymore. I beat you at pool and it's because I have Logan in me. I like classic rock so that must be John's influence. I can't even like ice cream without you telling me that I got that from you."

"See, this is why I avoided talking to you about this for so long. I knew you'd get defensive."

"Boy, oh boy. You can tell Kitty she shouldn't have bothered forcing you up here. It's obvious you don't care."

"Whatever. As if you care about anyone but Logan. There is room for other people."

"Get the hell out," I said flatly, opening my book again even though I was finished and never, ever wanted to read it again. I'd felt vindicated snapping at Bobby at first, but now I just felt petty, like I'd regressed five years.

Gently, Bobby leaned way over to push the top of the book down. "Okay, okay. Forget that. I'm sorry. Look, I know that Logan's your best friend, but I'm your friend, too. I'm here and I want to help."

Before I could stop myself, I muttered, "Logan and I are more than friends."

Bobby stilled. "What?"

I pursed my lips together. Blowing out a breath, I explained, "Before Logan left, we found out that he's immune to my skin now. So we…"

"You…" With a slow smile, Bobby came to terms. "That's great, Rogue. That's awesome. Why didn't you tell me before that you guys were together? I would've been happy for you. Believe me. I mean, I am happy for you."

"We were never together." I couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Bobby's face fell. "What do you mean?"

"We were never together or going out or anything. We only had that night. We didn't know before then. It just kind of happened. Like an accident almost. For him, anyway. He didn't mean for it to happen. Now he wants to go back to just being my friend. More like my protector, actually."

The anger on Bobby's face made me feel even worse. "Protector? That was a shit thing he did to you."

"It was mutually shitty."

"I doubt that."

"You weren't there, so you'll have to take my word for it."

Cautiously, Bobby asked, "What do you think will happen when he gets back?"

I shrugged. "It depends. On him."

Bobby looked me directly in the eye. "What are you going to do if it doesn't work out?"

"I'll survive."

Good friend that he was, Bobby called me on my bullshit. "Not the way you're going. You don't want to end up like Edna, do you?"

"You read this book?"

"I took Women's Lit with Kitty, remember? I wrote a paper on how Edna's really an anti-feminist, because she's a really bad example of a so-called independent woman. I got an A."

"Well, good for you. But what am I supposed to do? I can't fall in love with anyone else."

"Does this look like the eighteen hundreds to you? You don't need some guy around to have a happy life. All you need are good friends, a hobby, and job you love."

"Way to be a real feminist," I laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now. What are you going to do after college?"

"Be an X-Man. Duh."

"What else? Are you going to teach? Be a politician like Keller? Hey, maybe you could go all out and be a man-hating PE teacher."

"That's always been my dream."

"Just figure out what you like and then do it. That way, if it works out with Logan you'll be doubly happy. And if it doesn't…"

"I get it."

"That a girl."

As hard as it was for me to hear it, everything Bobby had said was true. I was putting too much into Logan. I wasn't thinking about my future in realistic terms. I did need to suck it up and let myself have fun for a change. I resolved to change all that as soon as possible.

That next day, I was as social as anybody. I went down for breakfast without a fight, met some of the teachers and students, and clamored for my turn to hold Juliana. I felt horrible for thinking it, but the first thing that came to mind when I saw the two year-old was the purple Furby doll my grandma had gotten me for my sixth birthday. It was Juliana's big eyes, fur-like purple hair, and matching tail that did it. She was normal in every other respect, especially in her need for attention.

To his embarrassment, she grew especially fond of Peter. She sat on his lap at lunch and threw a hellish temper tantrum when it was time to for us to leave. Only after Peter promised he'd bring her back a Dodgers cap did she agree to relinquish his leg so we could get to the game.

It was the bottom of the fourth and I was standing in line for said cap with Peter, Bobby, and Kitty when it hit me that I was, indeed, having fun. The few stares I got – those who didn't look close probably thought I was merely a diehard fan in makeup – didn't bother me much, and I hadn't felt like locking myself in the bathroom or telling everyone to shut the hell up more than once.

To the gang I said, "This is pretty cool. I've never been to a baseball game before. Not a professional one, anyway.

"I've been to about a million," Kitty replied. "But this is the first time I've seen my Cubbies play away."

"Your Cubbies," Bobby snorted.

"Hey, I am a Chicago native. The Cubbies are deep, deep in my heart. And if you had any sense of hometown pride, you'd feel the same way about the Red Sox. They aren't as good as the Cubs, of course, but you're obligated to be loyal. Unless you're from St. Louis. Then you need to move."

"Why St. Louis?" I asked, not up on my baseball rivalries.

"Because the Cardinals suck."

"Okay, then. But how do you feel about the Yankees? We could go see a Yankee game sometime, after we get back to New York."

"Sounds like fun," Bobby replied, pushing his shoulder into mine to show he was proud of me.

"I'll take that hat right there," Peter said when it was his turn, and handed over the money El Cid had insisted he use. "Thank you."

The four of us switched from the merchandise line to the snack line, then headed back outside to our seats once we'd been served. Jubilee absently took her Diet Pepsi from her boyfriend, engrossed in the moveable tattoos one of the returned dropouts, a seventeen year-old named Christine Cord, was showing her. Tatoo and her girlfriend, Noriko Ashida, or Surge, had come along so that they could point out Coalition members.

So far, they hadn't recognized anyone. All was quiet. Kitty was using her brand new palm pilot, which was more like a small laptop than a personal organizer, to hack into the LAPD computer system in case something Coalition-related happened somewhere else. El Cid pointedly overlooked that bit of illegality.

As the game wore on, I became increasingly aware that it was July in Southern California and I was the only one not wearing shorts and a tank top. "I am baking over here," I complained, swiping the back of my gloved hand across my damp forehead.

"I can fix that." Bobby discreetly waved his fingers in my direction, instantly cooling me off.

"What would I do without you?"

"Suffer horrifically."

Bobby jumped when Kitty reached over and grabbed him by the arm suddenly. "Ooh, ooh…Yes! Fourth homerun of the game! I love you, Davy Ramirez! I want your babies!"

"Kitty, I'm sitting right here," Bobby informed her incredulously.

"Remember when she was shy?" I laughed.

"Yeah. Fondly."

"Hey, that's three runs for us, not them," Kitty yelled, drawing our attention to the huge, animated scoreboard. "It's twelve to five Cubs, not the other way around!" Other Cubs fans began to boo whoever was operating the scoreboard.

The homerun announcement image flickered off the screen and was replaced by a wobbly, handheld video camera shot of the top of a Dodger's cap. "Now, I don't know about you, but I like that score much better," a memorable voice said, echoing loudly out of the speakers.

In the seat next to me, El Cid tensed and muttered, "Here we go."


	17. Tempered Melancholy, 9

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Highway to Hell ~_

Everyone, even the players on the diamond, stopped what they were doing to look up. The boos died out, replaced by a buzz of confusion. The handheld camera tilted down to reveal the speaker's grinning face. Surge gasped.

"There's one," Tattoo pointed out needlessly. "He's the leader."

"Ricochet," I bit off.

"You know him?"

"We all do," Bobby replied distractedly, "He used to be part of the Brotherhood."

Slipping into serious mode, Keller finished, "And now he's branched out on his own."

"Whew," Ricochet chuckled, as if nervous. "This is a big day for me. I've been planning this for quite awhile. Ever since I met my friends here."

The camera panned left to reveal a lanky blond boy in glasses sitting on a bench seat next to two sleek-looking laptops, and a thickly built, dark-haired guy making smug, "What's up?" nods.

"That's Cypher, the genius who cracked the entire network system. Say hi to the kids at home, Cyph." He waved dorkily. "And this is Richter. Richter, my friends, is a tough guy. You don't want to be messing with him. You'll see why. Oh, and we have our lovely camerawoman, Mercury." The camera spun around to reveal a brunette with silver skin making kissie faces at us.

"What's he playing at?" Bobby murmured.

"That's just it. He is playing," Kitty responded.

"What're we going to do?" Jubilee asked Bobby.

"Hold off for a second. Listen."

Mercury focused the camera back on Ricochet, who continued, "And me? Well, I'm Ricochet. A man with a dream and the drive to see it through. I am the leader of the Coalition for Mutant Supremacy. That's right. Mutant supremacy." A mocking glint in his dark brown eyes, Ricochet sneered dramatically, "And we're here to make your worst fears come true, America." Rubbing his hands together briskly, he explained, "Here's a little history lesson for you. In 1999, Dodger Stadium was supposed to undergo an upgrade so it would meet seismic standards. Before that could happen, ownership switched from News Corp to current owner Frank McCourt, who decided to spend fifteen million dollars revamping the aesthetics instead.

"Since then, the stadium has been upgraded to the newest technology twice, but each time Frankie ignored the fact that just one-point-eight miles below this very stadium is the Puente Hills fault. Seismologists have been saying for years that Puente Hills has the potential to create the big E. An earthquake so powerful it would decimate the entire city of Los Angeles. Now, of course, this is an extremely unlikely turn of events. Earthquakes that big happen every five hundred to two thousand years. I mean, the likelihood of that kind of thing happening today of all days is, statistically speaking, completely improbable. Unless…"

Abruptly, I pitched sideways into El Cid when the concrete beneath my feet began to tremor. It stopped just as quickly as it started.

"Like I said," Ricochet smirked, "Richter's a powerful guy."

The shaken crowd's confusion turned to either to stricken gasps or cries of outrage. The people around us who'd figured out I wasn't wearing body paint gave me uncomfortable looks, as if I had anything to do with Ricochet's power trip. Actually, maybe they were on to something. If it weren't for me saving John, Ricochet would still be under Magneto's guidance. When that had become a good thing, I had no idea.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Jubilee cried, leaning on Peter for support. "There are so many easier ways to get his guys out of prison."

"He's not worried about them," Keller deduced grimly. "He's going to do it. He's going to use Richter to stimulate the fault until it decimates the entire city."

"But why?" Kitty asked, staggered.

John, usually dormant, stirred in the back of my mind, providing me with the justification I needed to answer that. It was simple, really. "Mutant supremacy. We have the power. Ricochet's proving that in the biggest, most horrifying way possible. And he's using the networks showing the game to broadcast it nationally."

"Where is he?" Bobby snapped at Surge.

"How should I know?" she answered, wide-eyed.

Breathlessly, Tattoo realized, "He's in the metro rail. Red line. See? You can tell by the seats and shit."

The image on the scoreboard flipped back to the cameras on the field. Once again, the ground began to shake, this time much more forcefully. Panicky but not hysterical, the earthquake savvy California crowd headed for safety. Never having been in an earthquake before, I could only guess where that was.

Bobby was ready to act. "How do we get down there?"

"Follow me," El Cid ordered, moving with the crowd. He whipped out his cell phone. While he dialed, he yelled to us, "They extended the track right below the Stadium to make it easier for fans to get to games. It's finished, but it hasn't been opened for the public yet. The entrance is in the lower level parking lot, right by the security room. Miguel," he said into his phone. "It's Rodrigo. Yeah, we know. There's what? How do we get there fastest? Okay. All right. We'll be down as soon as…It's what they're here for. I promise you, they're trained for this. Right."

We made it inside the terraced stadium and managed to break off from the compact crowd. Sprinting down the concrete floors and hopping over fallen vender stands, we made it to the other end of the stadium just in time for another, heavier shake. We crouched in the alcove leading outside, hands over our heads.

"This is at least a five-pointer," Shannell informed us with some calm.

"I hate earthquakes," Kitty decided frenetically, burying her face in Bobby's shoulder. If Logan had been there, I would've done the same thing.

An awful groaning noise drowned out Bobby's calming words. Peaking out between my arms, I watched in astonishment as the huge scoreboard mounted on the back wall just diagonal from us began to sway. I could hear the bolts on the back pop out. Right as the tremors subsided, the huge monitor fell forward, almost in slow motion.

Keller used the wall to stand up from his crouch, his hand outstretched. The scoreboard didn't slow its descent. Clenching his teeth, Keller pushed more power out of himself to little avail.

"Forget it," Bobby cried since there was no one directly under it, and pulled him inside.

The rest of us quickly followed to escape the torrent of glass that exploded in every direction upon impact. Screams echoed through the stadium. With a hoarse cry, El Cid fell to all fours, a hand-sized shard of glass embedded in his right shoulder blade.

That should've been me, I cursed myself. I could heal. I should've been the last one out of the alcove. I'd been so concerned with myself that I didn't even think about it. Definitely not a hero. Logan would be so proud.

Losing no time, Peter put El Cid over his shoulder as gently as he could. Breathing raggedly through the pain, El Cid directed him to the employee only stairwell, which led down to the security room and, next to it, the entrance to the newest branch of LA's only subway. The entire level was already crawling with blue-clad LAPD officers and black-clad SWAT members.

"What happened?" the uniformed man I guessed was Miguel demanded upon seeing his friend.

"The scoreboard came down. Glass flew everywhere," Bobby replied, helping Peter place El Cid in the rollout chair one of the LAPD guys brought out from the security room.

"Are you…the X-Men?" the SWAT leader asked, giving us a skeptical eye.

"That's right. We're here to help," Bobby said directly.

"Captain," an older LAPD man said to Miguel. "With all due respect, they're just a bunch of mutie kids."

"They're just a bunch of kids, too," Miguel snapped, pointing to one of the security monitors. It showed five teenage Coalition members guarding the platform. "I'm not gonna stand here and say that we're equipped to handle this situation. We're not. These people are here to help, so we let them. This Richter needs to be stopped before he tears the whole city apart. If I lose my job over this, it'll be my own fault." Many of the cops looked mutinous, but Miguel had rank so they could do nothing.

The SWAT leader nodded his assent, and got down to it. "We haven't been able to get down onto the platform because of these two." He pointed out a set of twins on one of the security monitors. "They have some kind of laser beams that come out of their fingers. We're not sure how our shields will hold against them. We're going to cut the lights and head in with night vision.

"Down the tunnel about twenty yards, there's a railcar that was being repaired before it went missing. The cameras are off now, but that's where the they were filming from." The SWAT leader pointed to a tall, broad-shouldered girl back on other monitor. Seemingly for the hell of it, she picked up a bolted bench from the ground and threw it into the opposite wall. We could hear the dull crash that accompanied it. "Strong girl. We think that she dragged the car there."

"Okay," Bobby said to himself, formulating his own plan. "Cut the power, but give us the night vision. Colossus, Jubilee, and Hellion – you deal with them. Wait. There're five. All right. Surge, you know what they can do. You up for it?"

Surge rubbed her hands together, causing a few sparks. "Oh yeah."

"Good. Tattoo, I need you to come with me and Shadowcat. And Rogue."

Even with Bobby, I was an afterthought. Determined to be as useful as possible, I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and placed the night vision goggles over my eyes securely. Peter suited up to lead the way into the lightless subway. My eyes swept the green-tinged platform but didn't spot anyone. The Coalition members were hiding.

I followed Bobby, Kitty, and Tattoo further into the tunnel while the others set up for the attack. We knew it was only a matter of time before Cypher had the lights back on. Bobby covered our backs by sealing us in the tunnel with an ice wall and taking out the cameras as we went, anticipating that Cypher had hacked into them as well.

While we walked, Bobby whispered his plan. "Rogue and I'll distract them. Kitty, you go around the other side and phase in with Tattoo."

"And I'll use my mojo on them," Tattoo agreed.

"What mojo?" I asked.

"Don't you know I'm like a psychedelic butterfly?" Tattoo scoffed.

"Psychedel-a-what?"

Just then, another earthquake sent us careening to our knees.

Tattoo said, "Fiver again."

"Oh, God. We're going to get crushed," Kitty moaned.

"Underground is the safest place to be," Tattoo assured her. "The metro was built to withstand a seven-point-five. And seven-point-five, girlie, is bad. Especially in a crowded city in the middle of the day."

"So seven-point-five is probably what they're going for," I stated.

"Probably," Bobby agreed. Heedless of his bare knees and the violently shaking ground, he began to crawl toward the subway car. For once I was glad to be in gloves and pants despite the oppressive heat.

After the shaking subsided, Kitty and Tattoo darted to the other side of the car. Bobby and I crouched by the door, watching the flashlights move around inside. Bobby was mouthing the count when the dim track lights flickered on.

We threw off our goggles and then started the count again. On three, I opened the door. Reaching around me, Bobby sent in a blast of ice. I pushed Bobby aside and went in first, getting the full force of Mercury's silvery punch. It definitely hurt, but my ruptured spleen quickly healed.

Before anyone else could attack, Tattoo and Kitty phased into the car. With a wave of the swirling pictures on Tattoo's arm, Ricochet, Mercury, Cypher, and Richter began to sway dizzily on their feet, faraway gleams in their eyes. They poked at the air, babbling something about pretty colors and shapes.

"Are they…stoned?" I wondered aloud.

"Groovy, huh?" Tattoo winked.

Stretched out across the seat, Cypher began to make guitar noises that poorly simulated the opening of Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze." This, of course, made his cohorts laugh uncontrollably. The harder Richter laughed, the harder the ground began to shake.

"Shit," Tattoo said, falling onto a seat.

"Make him stop," Kitty demanded of Bobby from the floor.

Using the handrails for support, I made my over to the uproarious Richter. I shed my gloves and pressed my hands on either side of his face, drawing directly from his life force. He was unconscious in a matter of seconds, but the quaking continued. The damage had been done; the fault had been stimulated to life.

Struggling to file Richter away in my brain and to figure out how to stop the earthquake at the same time, I came across the glitch in Richter's powers. "He can't stop earthquakes," I murmured, not wanting it to be true.

Kitty turned around one of Cypher's laptops so that she could use it from the floor. "Man, this guy is good," she noted to herself. "He even hacked into the – Oh, God. We're too late. The California Geological Survey is predicting the next quake will be a six-point-six to a seven-point-o."

"What does that mean?" Bobby asked, even though we all knew.

Wretchedly, Tattoo answered certainly, "People are gonna die."

The four of us exchanged horror-struck, guilt-ridden looks, accompanied by the maniacal sound of Ricochet, Stingray, and Cypher giggling.

Finally, the shaking stopped again.

Bobby ordered sharply, "You three stay here and make sure they don't go anywhere. I'm going to check on the rest of the team."

There was nothing we could do. Richter couldn't stop earthquakes and neither could we. We could only worry. Tattoo was sitting with her knees drawn up, chewing distractedly on her long nails. She was probably thinking about her family or friends who lived in the city. Would they be one of the ones to lose their homes or, worse, their lives? Kitty was crying silently. I would've joined her, but I hadn't cried in so long – not even after Logan left – that I thought my body had forgotten how.

Without warning, the door closest to me was ripped off its hinges. The Amazon-looking girl that I'd seen on the monitor tossed the door behind her and climbed inside, her eyes immediately drawn to Ricochet's dazed form.

Still gloveless, I threw myself at her, managing to grab her by the elbows. I tried to knock her out, but the girl who called herself Warbird fought it. Drawing from her powers, I felt her considerable strength flow into me.

Another earthquake built under our feet, knocking us out of the car and onto the rails. Unfazed by the violent back-and-forth motion of the ground, she took me by the back of the head and crashed my face into the steel track twice.

Crying out in pain and anger, I pushed up against her and flipped her onto her back. She watched, somewhat impressed, as the huge cut on my forehead healed itself. Rising to her feet with a gravity-defying grace, she didn't stop there. She floated about three feet off the ground, no longer hindered by the earthquake. Blood pounding, I raised myself to her level.

"You bitch," Warbird laughed. "You stole my powers."

Not even close to being in the mood for banter, I attacked. We met each other blow for blow, but every time I landed one on her, she grew weaker from the poison in my skin.

I drew from her power and her life force equally, knowing that she wasn't going to give up until she was cataleptic. The more her life force invaded my body, the more vicious I became. I didn't just want to win the fight anymore. I wanted everything she had.

Pressing her down onto the track, my hands clamped hard around her throat. The part of me that desperately tried to let go was buried under the onslaught of power. It felt like she was pushing her life into me. It filled me completely, even as it drained her.

Unable to stop myself, I kept drinking it in until there was nothing left.

Silence rang in my ears. Everything was still, even the walls. Warbird's dull gray eyes stared up at me.

With a sharp scream, I skittered backwards, away from her.

"Rogue. Rogue, are you okay?" Kitty's concerned voice got closer as she rushed to my side.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. I killed her. I killed her. Oh, God."

Kitty's arms encircled me awkwardly. "It was self-defense. It's okay. It's over now. The earthquake's over. The Geo Survey says aftershocks'll be mild."

But I, weak from stolen power, couldn't have agreed less.


	18. Tempered Melancholy, 10

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Gimme Shelter ~_

I remember very little about the month following our unhappy return from LA. I do know, however, that the big quake ended up being a six-point-six, that the damages exceeded sixty billion dollars, and that the death toll was sixty-three people. It could've been worse, of course. The city wasn't entirely decimated, after all. But it was a big enough disaster to send the conservatives in Congress into frenzy.

Within a matter of days, the Mutant Registration Act was put on President McKenna's desk. In keeping with his reputation as a fence-sitter, he refused to acknowledge it. Ten congressional days later, it was made into a law without his signature. Thus, like the obvious mutants, the rest of us no longer had anonymity as a defense. It was a scary prospect, and I had enough to be scared of as it was.

Because I was going crazy.

At first, it was just mood swings. Really bitchy mood swings. Bobby tried to talk to me again, but I wasn't having any of it. All I wanted to do was fight. I couldn't control the words that came out of my mouth, and then I couldn't control my whole body. By the time I figured out that I was possessed by Warbird, alias of Carol Danvers, I was too far gone to care. The Professor would've known if he had been there, but he was needed in Washington.

Under Warbird's influence, I stole anything valuable I could get my hands on, pawned it all, and then took off for New York City to have myself a good old time.

I hooked up with the Brotherhood quickly, wanting more than anything to be destructive. They were understandably wary of me, but decided to keep my presence in New York top secret. They put the word out that I was headed West to break Warbird's old friends out of jail.

We laughed ourselves into a tizzy when we found out "the pathetic little X-Kids" had actually taken the bait. "Without Daddy X around," they guffawed, "the goddamned peacenik fucks couldn't find their own assholes," let alone someone under the protection of the Brotherhood.

A few days after I'd gotten in really good with the New York branch, John flew in town to investigate my legitimacy and keep an eye on me. It didn't take him long to realize that I was not a spy or myself. That, of course, didn't stop him from letting me put the moves on him.

Warbird loved to be bad, and I completely assimilated that trait. Helping the Brotherhood make pipe bombs and terrorize anti-mutant, neo-Nazi shitheads was all kinds of fun, but imposing teasing sexual advances on unsuspecting older men, bumbling teenage boys, or even the occasional female gave me the ultimate sadistic kick. With John it was different, though.

I – the real me – had always thought of John platonically. I knew he was good-looking in a smirky kind of way, but our personalities had never meshed well. However, with my new Warbird-inspired personality in place, I saw him as a kindred soul.

Forget Logan. He was lost in the jungle halfway around the world and playing for the other team. Forget Ricochet. No way I was going to waste money to fly my ass out to California just for a conjugal visit once a month, if that. He'd never been that great of a boyfriend, anyway. Fuck both of them.

John – sizzling hot, acerbically sarcastic, wonderful St. John Allerdyce – was in the flesh right in front of me. I wanted him, so I was fucking well going to get creative.

One afternoon about two or three weeks after I'd first come to New York, I went to an S&M shop and I bought that dominatrix outfit and deluxe box of condoms.

I didn't start feeling queasy about it until we were in John's room, in his bed. I wasn't in the leather outfit yet. I was going to let him watch me put it on, preferably while he begged.

God, I wanted to hear him beg. I knew from Warbird's memories that it was the ultimate rush of power. John may have thought he was in control, but I was calling the shots. All I had to do was straddle his thighs in my short little skirt, and he was mine.

I was grinding against him and kissing him through a sheer, lightweight scarf, and he was practically whimpering, when I got my first inklings of guilt. I paused for a second, confused. Guilt was an emotion I could barely remember, and could certainly do without. I quickly pushed it aside in favor of lust. I'd missed lust.

"Rogue, ah, fuck," John moaned as I slowed my hip movements.

"Warbird," I corrected, trailing one gloved finger down the side of his face. "Rogue's dead."

John didn't hear me. He put his hands on my waist to increase the pressure on his lap. His hands slipped under my shirt, and came in contact with my bare skin for just a moment. The guilt flared, then disappeared. I leaned over him, lips inches from his.

"Tsk, tsk. Don't touch," I smirked. Nipping at his lips, I drew a little more energy from him. There was guilt there, too, but it was his guilt.

John wasn't thinking totally of me. He was thinking of the other Rogue. That kind of pissed me off.

Holding his head down, I forced my tongue into his mouth and gave him a real kiss. "That hurt?" I asked breathlessly as I pulled back, knowing it had.

John's eyes were glazed and his mouth hanging open slightly. Gaining his strength back, he clamped his hands on my gloved elbows. "What the hell did you do that for?"

With my superior strength, I easily maneuvered his hands over his head and into a locked position. I leaned over and licked his jaw. I kissed my way down his neck and then started sucking.

John made guttural noises as I drew more energy. I was ruining our night, I knew, but the power was eclipsing my lust, if not fueling it. Distinctly, I felt John frantically think that whoever I was, I was one crazy bitch.

I bit him, hard, then jerked back "You fucking bastard. All you want is this body. You fucking don't even like me."

"Get off of me," John wheezed.

"Or you'll do what, exactly? Sorry, Johnny-boy. No lighter, no fire. I'm afraid you're helpless. Hey, I wonder," I asked coyly, bringing one hand down to undo the button on his jeans. "What do you think would happen if I just fucked you outright? Would it kill you? Should we find out?"

The guilty feeling came back in abundance. Suddenly, there was a bitter tightness in my chest. I couldn't stand myself. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. For that moment, I was me again. I looked down at John and saw the fear and disgust in his eyes. I dropped his wrists.

John brought up his knee to my back, pitching me sideways off the bed. The action brought Warbird out again, but the bitterness stayed.

Wiping off my toxic saliva and standing shakily on the other side of the bed, John flicked open his lighter. Smirking, I used the power I'd drawn from him to flare the flame back into his face. He staggered back half a step but soon got his baring back. He sent a ball of fire right at me.

Unlike John, the flames burned me. But also unlike John, I enjoyed the pain and I could heal.

"What now?" I challenged.

"Rogue," John said in a calculated beseeching voice, "Rogue, I know you're in there somewhere. I saw you. Talk to me, Rogue."

Hackles raised, I replied curtly, "I told you. Rogue is dead."

"Come on, Rogue. I know this isn't you. You're a good guy, remember? You gotta fight whatever the hell this is. You can do it."

No, no, no. I didn't want to fight. I had to fight, it was the only way, but I didn't want to. Why was he doing this to me?

"Oh, right. Now you want Rogue back. Now that you're not wanting to get fucked! You son of a bitch. You son of a fucking – goddamned – bitch!"

I was crying now, well on my way toward sobs. "You didn't say a word until I hurt you. You were gonna let me – You let me hurt – "

I fell to my knees, Rogue once more. I buried my face in the bed sheets, consumed by anguish. "I hate you. I – f-fucking – hate – you, John. I h-hate you. Oh, God. I hate myself." I waited for Warbird to take over again. I wanted her to. I didn't want to have to deal with this guilt. I didn't want to be good anymore. I just wanted to be left alone.

Vision blurred by tears, I looked up just in time to see John lift a lamp over his head and strike it down over mine. My already darkened world went totally black.


	19. Tempered Melancholy, 11

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Back in Black ~_

When opened my eyes again, I was lying flat on my back in a bed in the med lab. My entire body was twitching.

The Professor placed his hand on the top of my head to calm me down. "It's all right, Rogue. Don't be alarmed. It's your evening muscle stimulation. There you go. It's off now."

I couldn't help flinching a little as Dr. McCoy reached over and carefully pealed the sticky circular patches off my skin. He stepped back and smiled down at me.

Finding my voice hoarse, I managed to rasp, "What's going on?"

"Let's get you some water, hm?" The Professor pushed a button on my bed that lifted me into a sitting position. Dr. McCoy handed me a bottle of water. I drank it gratefully.

I used the time to search my foggy mind for the answer to the question I'd posed. Eventually, I vaguely remembered what had happened with Warbird, though it seemed to me more like what she did, not what I did.

"How'd I get here," I wanted to know, my voice stronger now.

"John brought you back. And, no, I could not talk him into staying, hard as I tried. It was either imprison him or let him go. Considering all the trouble he went to for you, I chose to let him go."

Accepting that and not really recalling what had almost happened between us, I asked the Professor, "Warbird, is she gone?"

"She's no longer a threat," he assured me.

"We did a sort of scientific exorcism," Dr. McCoy put in.

The Professor continued, "You see, Rogue, you've been away from us for quite awhile. Seven months."

Ridiculously enough, I grew hopeful. A lot can happen in seven months. "Is Logan…"

"Not yet. But you shouldn't worry."

As if saying that would stop me. I dropped the subject, though, and went back to more relevant questions. "I've been in a coma for all that time?" I didn't feel like I had been. In fact, except for a sore throat and a little light sensitivity, I felt fine. Completely lucid.

"'Coma' isn't the right term. There was nothing wrong with you physically. Just as you were trapped inside your mind when Warbird was in control of your body, you've been trapped inside the memories of the people you've absorbed life force from. Their individual psyches have been vying for control, while yours has been lost. But, in the end, you proved strongest."

I didn't know about that. I was sure he had helped me. "Are they gone?"

"As of a few days ago, they're back under control."

After a moment, I asked the million dollar question. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"You did nothing wrong, Rogue. You weren't in control."

Desperately wanting that to be true, I kept my mouth shut. There was too much to be said about the situation.

The Professor understood why I chose to remain silent. "It's late and you've been through quite a battle. You should get your rest. Is there anything I can get for you," he asked before he left.

"Do you think that I could talk to Kurt? Just for a little while."

Professor Xavier nodded. "I think that will help. I'll get him for you."

I had ten minutes to stew in my own self-reproach before Kurt sat down shyly in the chair beside my bed. "It's good to see you awake, Anna Marie."

"It's good to be me again."

"That was a horrible thing you went through," he said compassionately, taking my gloved hand in his. "I know how it is to be forced to do things against your will."

"But I think that I deserved it," I confessed, unable to meet his eyes. "It was like my penance or something. Maybe she was the bad guy, but that doesn't make me any less of a…murderer. I can say that it was self-defense, but I can't justify it."

"You don't have to. You're repentant. That shows what a good person you are."

"The thing that bothers me, though, is that when she started to take over I don't think I fought it as hard as I maybe could've, because I felt like I deserved it. So I – I basically let her use me. It's all mixed up and hazy, but if she did hurt someone seriously or killed someone, then it's my fault. So maybe it wasn't penance at all. Maybe it was just me giving up because I felt like I didn't deserve to play the hero. Does that make any sense?"

"Ja."

"How do I deal with that?"

"You learn to make peace with your mistakes. Harder than it sounds, I know. I'm afraid I'm not much of a help to you."

That wasn't true at all. "You do so much for me. You listen to me. You take me seriously. You taught me how to try to be a better person."

Kurt leaned forward to kiss me on the top of my head. "Your complexities make me proud, but you let yourself rest now. Save the worrying for when you feel stronger. Gute Nacht mein Lamm."

"Gute Nacht. Ich liebe Dich."

That took him a by surprise. I'd never told him I loved him before. I'd been too embarrassed. Gratitude sparkled in his eyes. "Vielen Dank. Ich liebe Dich."

I slept easy after Kurt left, until I found myself having Logan's nightmare again. I hadn't had it since that first week we'd begun working on my control, which had been almost four years ago. Again, I experienced the nightmare as he experienced it, not as a spectator. But it was more intense than ever before. And, instead of ending in the freezing snow, it ended with fire.

I sat up swiftly, wondering why I wasn't greeted by the rising run, thatched walls, and the chirp of many hundreds of crickets. Falling back on the pillow, I tried to bring the image back, but it was gone. I rubbed the phantom ache in my knuckles while pondering the possibilities. Was the hut something Logan remembered or was it the place he was now? Unable to answer that, I resolved to ask the Professor about it in the morning and tried to go back to sleep. Despite my exhaustion, it was a difficult endeavor. Logan's nightmare, especially the fiery ending, had unnerved me.

The Professor came to visit me again early that next morning, and I wasted no time in telling him about the nightmare and what I'd felt after.

He thought about it awhile, finally saying, "For obvious reasons, the two strongest psyches inside of your mind are Warbird's and Logan's. When Warbird finally subsided, it was Logan who came to the forefront. Some of the things that I saw in your mind whilst he was in control seemed peculiar to me. I also got the impression that I was viewing things that were happening at the present. I believe that, because Logan survived your complete absorption of his life force, the copy made of his psyche became a sort of window."

Before I could fully grasp the implications of that, the doors to the med lab opened and Dr. McCoy came through. "Sorry to interrupt, but Rogue has some very insistent well-wishers who would like to see her."

The Professor looked to me for consent. Straightening the sheets around me, I nodded. Dr. McCoy turned around and beckoned Bobby, Keller, Kitty, Jubilee, and Peter inside. Each of them carried either balloons, flowers, candy, or, in Bobby's case, a polar bear stuffed animal. They took turns giving me hugs – Peter's was a little awkward and Kitty's a little emotional – and Jubilee promised me that I didn't need to worry. "All those things you said? Forgiven and forgotten. Totally wasn't you."

"I think she's way ahead of us on the forgetting part," Keller pointed out, noting my confused and discomfited expression.

Jubilee brushed it off. "Even better."

They stayed with me for most of the rest of the day, feeding me mini-Snickers bars and catching me up on the latest news, important and otherwise. It was so strange. To me, it felt like I'd only been gone for the two and half weeks Warbird had taken me to New York. For them, it had been thirty weeks. That's over two hundred days. Life had gone on, the world had kept on turning, but I'd missed it completely.

It didn't take long for my incredulousness to evolve into a gnawing in the pit of my stomach that made sure I realized how far out of the loop I really was. I did not even want to consider how much makeup work I had for my classes or how out of shape I probably was.

But, as it happened, Dr. McCoy's electro-stimulation had kept my muscles from atrophying, so when I attempted to get up and walk around the med lab I only had to combat dizziness and stiffness from being horizontal for so long.

My muscles, he informed me after he'd kicked my friends out of the med lab in a very professional manner, were actually stronger than they'd ever been because I'd retained Warbird's powers like I had Logan's.

Or, at least, that was the theory. Accessing the power was another matter. My attempt to levitate myself off the table was to no avail. Not even repeating, "Light as a feather, stiff as a board," in my head helped.

Clipboard in hand, Dr. McCoy peered down at me from over the top of his glasses. "What's the problem?"

"It's not working."

"That's probably because the mutation is trigged by adrenaline. Never mind. We'll work on that some other time. I was going to wait to tell you with the Professor, but…Would you like to hear about the breakthrough I've made in my work on your skin cells?"

"Breakthrough?"

"Yes, breakthrough." There was pride in his voice when he stated, "Actually, I've completed work on a serum that has the potential to make you one of the most powerful mutants in the world. If not the most."

"What?"

"I know, it's remarkable, isn't it? It's some of my best work. I believe that I can now alter the genetic makeup of your entire mutation so that it acts more like that of Everett Thomas's. You know Everett, the boy they call Synch? He has a wonderful power, but it doesn't last. In your case, however, if, over a period of time, we inject enough Power Boost into you, then you could retain any mutant's power forever. And not by touch, either. By seeing them in action, like Everett does. In fact, I believe that altering your mutation will, by extension, alter your incapacity to touch completely." He finished with a head-bob of excitement.

"What's the catch?"

His giddiness was put on pause. He'd obviously expected me to jump at this opportunity, no questions asked. "I don't…"

"The catch. The catch that every mutant's power has. There's always a downside. There has to be. Otherwise, it wouldn't be natural."

"Well, this isn't natural. This is improving on nature. Though, I suppose you are partially correct. In any scientific experiment, there's always a chance that something might go wrong."

"Altering my genetic makeup sounds extreme."

"Rogue, I promise you that I would take the utmost of care," he replied sincerely.

"I know you would. I just don't think I could handle all that power. I have more than my fair share now."

Dr. McCoy respected my wishes but was undeniably upset by my lack of interest. He told me to think about it some more. I knew I wouldn't. I hated to disappoint him since he had to have worked on this for a long, long time. Yet, in spite of the trust I had in his ability, it just seemed too risky to tempt fate. I didn't want to be all-powerful. I didn't even want to be team leader. I just wanted to be needed. That's where my ambition ended.


	20. Tempered Melancholy, 12

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Two**

"**Tempered Melancholy"**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy,_

_for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; _

_we must die to one life before we can enter another." _

– _Anatole France –_

_~ Emotional Rescue ~_

Unfortunately, the un-ambitious facet of my personality left me with a gaping hole in my future. What did I want to do after college, besides be an X-Man? Being a teacher wouldn't be so bad, I reasoned, though I had no idea what subject I could teach. I'd never been particularly involved in my academic experience. Going to class was just something I'd always done.

Man, I didn't like the sound of that. It made the out-of-place feeling in my gut twitchy. Once out of the med lab, it grew even more obvious that I didn't fit. Even the grounds weren't the same now four months into construction on a plethora of new buildings, athletic fields, and dorms, and there were so many new faces that it was hard to walk down the familiar halls.

I wasn't turning into self-made recluse again; I had fun whenever possible. I just didn't have purpose anymore. Thankfully, within a six weeks of getting my clean bill of health, I received my Washington, DC assignment.

Since the Mutant Registration Act had been made into law, there was much strife in Congress as to what they should do with the information now that they had it. So far, they'd kept with the straight and narrow. Even Magneto had been surprisingly inactive about the whole thing.

The passage of the Registration Act had swelled the Brotherhood's ranks even further, so it was likely that he'd been secretly pleased about the whole development. That theory was backed up by the fact that Mystique – still playing Senator Kelly – hadn't done much in the way of actively pushing for pro-mutant agenda lately. The necessity of revolution was an easier sell if it was obvious that the current government was corrupt.

Wisely heeding the advice of Professor Xavier, President McKenna decided that he couldn't let that corruption happen. He finally caved and agreed to take a stance. He chose to be anti-anti-mutant legislation and pro-peaceful coexistence.

Thus, an era of hippie-like idealism began to sweep the nation's college campuses. The Professor and the X-Men became symbols for this movement, and the much beloved President McKenna was hailed as the new John F. Kennedy.

By the moderates.

The hard-right conservatives, however, believed that he was selling out his own party, and the far-left liberals didn't think he was doing enough. As President McKenna derisively pointed out to me one day, "In the game of politics, no one is ever a winner. Some of us just lose less publicly than others."

Win or lose, my Washington assignment was this: guard the President. Simple, direct, and meaningful. In the five months I worked at the White House, only one serious attempt was made on the President's life.

It was during a press conference out on the lawn dealing with Representative Reis-Steeves's proposed Equal Rights for Mutants Act. A deranged ex-military, anti-mutant type named Doran Ray Mills had tried to get President McKenna with a long-ranged assault rifle.

I took one bullet in the back before I literally flew the President to safety. I received a commendation for my services, which I was quite proud of.

The rest of the time, it was pretty much a real, normal job. Though my true purpose was no big secret, my official title was personal assistant. Not only did I dress the part, I acted it as well. Sure, it was a glorified secretarial position and I didn't need to be giving President McKenna his daily briefings, but I liked doing it.

It made me a part of the workforce and therefore gave me the opportunity to make friends with the entrance-level staff, who were only a couple years older than me. Having them as friends was extremely important as the gang had stayed back in Westchester and my roommate had a stick up ass.

That was Cyclops for you.

Yes, I lived with Cyclops for almost half a year. It wasn't actually as horrible as I thought it would be. He was by no means overly friendly, but he did his fair share of the housework and refrained from parenting me to death.

For the first month or so, we stayed out of each other's way. He spent most of his time on Capitol Hill dealing with special interest groups, organizing campaigns for pro-mutant legislation, and keeping an eye on Mystique. I was in awe of his utter dedication, until I came to the realization that he put so much into it because he didn't have anything else.

After that, Cyclops's social life, which had never concerned me in the least, became my business. In essence, I unapologetically invited myself into his life.

He tried to ignore me, of course, but our apartment wasn't exactly monstrous. I kept wearing him down until he consented to sharing meals with me. Actual conversation came much slower. By the time that happened, I'd gotten used to calling him by his first name.

Scott was a much more laidback person than Cyclops. Scott had his flaws. For instance, his taste in music and movies was, at times, frightening. He was completely trapped in the late eighties and early nineties. Whenever he needed a lift, he watched the _Back to the Future_ trilogy. Whenever he really missed Dr. Grey – Jean, as subsequently came to know her – he listened to either to hair metal power ballads or TLC's album _CrazySexyCool_. Apparently, it had been her favorite throughout high school.

When he'd first divulged that information to me, I'd been thumbing through his CD collection. Not knowing what else to say, I'd said, "Really?" To be honest, I'd always pictured her as more of the Beethoven type.

"Yeah," Scott replied, attention faraway.

It was the tail end of my stay in Washington, and, though we did have the typical roommate squabbles, our rapport had never been more affable. However, the subject of Jean made me plain uncomfortable.

Scott's jaw tightened. "I know what everyone thinks about me."

I thought about playing stupid, but I'd made myself his friend. I couldn't abandon him now. "I have absolutely zero room to judge. The only reason people – the ones who know about Logan –don't get on my case is because they don't think I could have anyone else."

"But isn't that the truth? He's the only one that you can…you can touch."

"There're ways to get around that, if I really wanted to. I just don't. Logan's it."

"That's how I feel about Jean. I don't want anyone else."

"Then that's your choice. But that doesn't mean you can't find happiness elsewhere." I pulled out his John Cougar Mellencamp CD, saying, "A wise man once said, 'Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.'"

Scott snorted.

"Sorry. I'm trying to remember Bobby's speech to me about this. He was much more eloquent. He said something about the eighteen hundreds, and then he said something mildly offensive about man-hating PE teachers."

"Sounds profound."

"It was. Anyway, the gist of it was that I shouldn't let my life center around my relationship with Logan because it might not work out between us."

"Jean was my life. I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with living for the people you love, so long as you're able to live for yourself, too. And, I mean, you've been doing that. You're taking a break from teaching, you're seeing some new things, and you're having a fantastic time with me. What more could you want?"

"Her. No offense."

"Eh," I replied, coming around to sit on the plush reclining chair. "It's okay. I'd drop you for Logan in a second. No offense."

Outwardly, he took it the way it had been intended, as a joke. I didn't know what he was thinking inwardly. I'd just recognized the potential double-meaning in my words. Jean had chosen Scott in the end, but was he still sensitive about her interest in Logan?

"I can still feel her. Like a presence. Is that strange?"

"No. We're mutants. There's no such thing."

"I guess not. You're a smart girl, Rogue. I never saw that before."

"You never liked me, did you?"

As always, his eyes were hidden behind his glasses, yet I could tell they widened. "That's not – "

"It's okay. You can be honest. I was never all that fond of you, either."

"That's understandable. I never gave you any credit. I didn't hate you either, though. Stupid as it is, I did resent you a little. You brought him into our lives, and you were one of the reasons Jean liked him so much. She always said that anyone who'd do so much for a little girl he hardly knew had to be a good guy, no matter how tough he seemed. Well, of course, I knew that you weren't a little girl and tried to convince her, and myself, that his intentions toward you weren't honorable. She didn't buy it. Living with a telepath…it can get frustrating." He said it so fondly, though.

"Yeah, I can imagine. She'd always know the truth." The platonic truth.

"Oh. Sorry. I – You're an adult now. There wouldn't be anything wrong…" This was not a painless topic for poor Scott, but he still wanted me to feel better. "Someday Logan will see that."

He already had. Sleeping with me was the ultimate indication of that, even if he'd felt differently in the morning. Scott didn't know anything about the more intimate side of mine and Logan's relationship. however. It had been embarrassing enough to share with Bobby, and then with Jubilee and Kitty.

When I'd told them, Jubilee and Kitty had actually gotten into an argument over whether or not my decision to jump in so abruptly with Logan had been the right thing to do. Jubilee had contended that Logan needed the wakeup call to get the wheels spinning, while Kitty had maintained that waiting to assess the situation fully would've been more to my advantage. The rational side of me knew that Kitty was right, but the maudlin side was squarely in Jubilee's corner. A bittersweet memory is better than no memory at all.

"Did it bother you how Logan…felt about Jean?" Scott wanted to know.

"Hell yes it did. I loved him, so I was jealous. It bothered you, didn't it?"

"Not as much as the fact that she wanted him back."

What an awful, awful situation that must've been for him. He had my total sympathy. For the first time, I kind of resented Logan for putting himself between Scott and the woman he loved.

Very soothingly, I pointed out, "At least you have the satisfaction of knowing that she picked you over him."

"It was too late for me to get any satisfaction out of that. She was already gone." He massaged his forehead. "What does it say about us, I wonder, that the people we loved, loved each other?"

The way he said it didn't really make sense, but I understood where he was coming from. "It just goes to show that they have good taste. And so do we."

"I never thought of it that way."

His expression made me think that he was going to spend the rest of the night dwelling on it. I couldn't have that. "Hey," I said, looking at the clock. "It's still early, it's Saturday night, we're young. Wanna go get something to eat? Maybe go to a movie?"

"I don't really feel like a movie. What's that place you're always going to with those people from work? Ellie, Stephanie, and what's-his-face. You know, the swing dancing place?"

"You can swing dance?"

"No. But I could learn."

"Well, then let's blow this joint, hep cat."

Unsurprisingly, Scott was a rather stiff dance partner initially. Once he got a few beers in him, though, he got pretty wild. He acted like a complete and utter dork, but he was having fun so I didn't say anything.

It was past three before I finally got him in the car. By the time we were back at the apartment, he'd fallen asleep.

Unfazed, I slung his dead weight over my shoulder and carried him to his room where I left him to sleep it off.

Heading to the kitchen, I noticed that the answering machine was flashing. I played the message while I got some milk out of the refrigerator. I almost dropped the container when I heard Logan's voice for the first time in practically two years.

"Hey, kid. It's me. The Professor gave me your number. I'm in Thailand right now. We just made it out. We're about to take a flight to Tokyo, but I should be back in the States in a few days. I'll be in Washington by next Friday, that's for sure." There was little bit of a pause. "It's been rough. I've learned some stuff about me, my past. It's not pretty, but I guess we never thought it would be. Anyway, I'll see you on Friday."

Friday was my twenty-second birthday. Not since I was a kid had I looked forward to a birthday so much. The anticipation of it filled my every thought.

Unfortunately, I didn't know when Logan was going to show up, and I still had to go to work Friday morning. I dressed in my favorite dark green skirt and matching, long-sleeved silk blouse. I was about to put on a pair of sheer pantyhose when the doorbell rang.

I knew it was Logan before Scott opened the door for him. I sprinted out into the living room and gracelessly threw myself into his arms.

Who says emotional maturity has to equal emotional withholding?

"Oh, kid," Logan whispered gruffly, burying his face in my neck. I felt the desperation in his relief and happiness at our reunion. He needed me. I tightened my hold on him to let him know that I was there, no matter what. After a long while, he set me back on my feet.

"I brought you presents," he told me.

I went in for another hug. "I like this one the best."

Stroking my bare cheek with the side of his thumb, he said, "Happy birthday, Rogue."

I let myself cry then, because it really was a happy birthday.


	21. Process of Becoming, 1

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Always On My Mind ~_

Care for an extended metaphor?

My mind is a ball of green Play-Doh. As I continually roll it between my palms, swirls of brown often appear, sometimes blue or red or silver. Black. Once, believing they'd contaminate my green, I resented the other colors. I pressed them down inside, smoothing the surface over with my thumbs. If I didn't do the job right and someone noticed, I instantly became defensive out of what amounted to shame. Not shame for being a mutant in general or one with poison skin in particular. Shame for the other half of my mutation, the half that made the other colors stick. The half that has never let the echo of David's internal scream fade completely away.

An hysterical sort of certainly overtook me the moment I'd seen David's empty eyes slide back under twitching lids. I'd done that. I'd kissed him, and the result was his body, laid out on my bed, unnaturally stiff and gasping for air. The first words I'd stammered after my parents had burst into my room were a lie, one I'd been quick to retract with a confession that was more a plea for understanding than an admission of guilt. On the same breath, I'd choked out, "Don't touch." Anyone. Ever. A rule to live by. I'd always found rules so lame.

But I was convinced.

My parent's hadn't been. They'd thought the shock of David's seizure had caused me to go a little crazy. Even after blood tests revealed an active mutant gene, they'd had trouble believing that alone validated my frantic refusal to let anyone touch my skin. But who else did they have to believe? There wasn't a doctor in Meridian who could make up rules any better than mine. Hospitals are notorious for their reluctance to treat mutants, ostensibly for insurance reasons. Anderson Regional was no different. David they kept. They sent me home.

There, the atmosphere was tense, strained by pity. An utter tragedy, the community at large had opined. Star basketball player in a coma and a poor girl's life irrevocably altered, all because of a genetic disorder. Too heartbreaking. Condolences poured in. I didn't want to hear them. Mom gave me daily summaries regardless. Tuning her out was simple, at least. I had David's memories to get lost in.

Lost is the right word. The more I agonized over what I'd done to David, the more the line between what was mine and what was his blurred. The David in my head was a secret until well after the real David had recovered. I came to regret not keeping him that way. I thought I never should have told.

I certainly hadn't intended to. I'd been digging in my closet for a pair of shoes, exaggerating the noise it took to find them in an effort to drown out my mom's voice. I was definitely not in a communicative mood.

"Grandma D'Ancanto called while you were sleeping. I told her you were taking a nap. She'd have a fit if she knew we were letting you sleep in until three in the afternoon. Jan Hilliard stopped by – "

"Where are my Flyers?" I'd interrupted, not taking my head out of my closet.

"Pardon?"

"My PF Flyers. Like Chucks, only from _The Sandlot_. You ordered them special, remember? It was a whole big ordeal. They got lost in shipping and Dad had to – "

The image my synapses had connected with "Dad" had been of a gray-haired bear-like man with a full beard, not a medium-sized man with a receding brown hairline and a moustache. My father.

In frustration, I'd flipped a wedged sandal against the back of my closet.

Used to my mood swings but sounding unsure, Mom had replied, "I don't know, honey. Maybe they got mixed in with the garage sale stuff?"

"Great, Mom. They were my favorite pair. Thanks a lot." Lying beat explaining any day. I'd stomped to my feet, waving toward the door with one gloved hand. "Can you just leave, please? I have homework."

"Don't you want to hear what Jan had to say? She's been to see David's mom."

That had gotten my attention. A tingling of dread beginning to spread through me, I'd prompted, "Well, what did she say? Did she ask?"

"Yes, she asked. David's memory is fine."

"Fine? Completely? No gaps?"

"No gaps."

"Can he still play basketball? Can he name the presidents backwards and forwards? Did she ask him?"

"I told you, his memory is fine. Why does it matter if he can – "

"Because I can," I'd interjected, leaning against the wall for support. "I can name the presidents backwards and forwards – I shouldn't be able to do that. A few weeks ago, I could sink twenty-one crumpled paper balls into my trashcan – in a row – from all the way over here."

"I don't…I'm not following you, honey."

The backs of my eyes had burned. "I took things from him, Momma. Likes, dislikes. Memories. I have to make sure it wasn't for good, okay? Make sure for me."

Mom was silent.

"Please?" I begged. I could hardly get the word out.

"Anna Marie…"

The way she'd said my name and the openly alarmed expression on her face had caused my stomach to lurch. Shame. I'd known the feeling well.

"Honey, I don't – Do you think I need to…to call someone for you? Someone…professional?"

My insides had curdled. This had been the first time Mom had even suggested that the magical healing properties of family solidarity wouldn't be enough to see me through to the daybreak horizon or whatever other footsteps-in-the-sand clichés kept her hope alive. I had no hope, just an overwhelming urge to preserve as much of normal as possible. To do that, I had to prove to her that I wasn't schizophrenic. So I had to bury David. I had to learn to push thoughts out of my mind.

The one thing I appreciated about the headscarves and hoods my dad had me wear was the blinder effect. It was awkward to turn my neck and my peripheral vision was partially obstructed, so the only direction I could really see in was straight ahead. In the hallways of my school, I walked chin down, eyes up, and let other people worry about keeping their distance. Complete tunnel vision, that's how I got through my days. I wallowed and cried, sure, but only when I was by myself.

I was by myself a lot. Natalie tried to be a good best friend, she did, but there was no feigning normalcy with her. What did we have in common anymore? She was so high-energy, and I was doing my utmost to transform myself into empty space. I was a void at our lunch table, sucking all the usual fun out of everything. I took to eating in a lonely corner down the band hallway. In exile, I'd felt comfortable. Well enough.

Well enough was decidedly not enough for Dad, not by a long shot. It was sort of amusing to me, how rationally he'd reacted to the fallout from David's coma. "We have to face facts," he'd assert whenever anyone got too unreasonable. He never verbalized what those facts were, only that we all needed to face them.

He set the example by giving up his decade-long friendship with David's dad like it was nothing. That was just the way my dad operated. Simplify everything, and, while you're at it, make yourself useful. Moping wasn't useful, he was quick to point out. Sarcasm, also not useful. Reprimand after reprimand, so hypercritical and so like him that I sometimes broke down into tearful laughter while he was still mid-sermon. Needless to say, that wasn't useful, either.

Aunt Shirley, Mom's sister, was my savior on the Dad front. She gave me an afternoon job taking inventory and ringing up orders at the bar downtown she co-owned with Uncle Nuts. Not only did a job classify as useful, Aunt Shirley and Uncle Nuts were two people who knew how to let well enough alone. She'd squeeze my shoulder and tell me I was doing a good job, even on the days I played games and not much else. Behind her back, Uncle Nuts would serve me Amaretto Sours, and we'd pretend they were lemonades.

The bar increasingly became my haven as things at home with Mom declined. Arguments with Dad were par for the course, but I couldn't stand arguing with Mom. So, naturally, I ended up picking more and more fights with her. I hated that she was different now. She'd used to be fun and accepting, but the need to see me healthy and happy had consumed her. She, in turn, hated that I'd ceased being the adventurous, optimistic child she'd spent seventeen years raising.

For both of us, the sky had fallen with the onset of my mutation. Three and half months later, the ground crumbled under its weight. Spectacularly.

Mom touched me. She'd known not to. Impulse had won out anyway. Beyond reason, she'd thought that maybe nothing bad would happen to her because I was asleep or cured or a liar, anything that would mean she could have her daughter back. Instead, she'd gotten a thirteen-hour hospital stay. When she'd woken up, she'd given Dad this wonderful, drowsy smile. As her gaze had slid from my red-rimmed eyes to my forehead, it had waned considerably.

Dual memories of the conversation we'd almost had about the David in my head had looped through my mind. My shame had crashed down in the pit of my stomach, along with it her fear. That night before, in the seconds between when she'd put her fingertips to my cheek and when she'd hit the ground, my skin had poisoned her hope. A return to normalcy was no longer a foreseeable future for either of us.

The fallout was rapid. I was no longer welcome at Meridian High School, since the superintendent of my high school had decided taking a hard stance against my "unfortunate but jeopardizing condition" was a good way to get people to forget the rumors that he was embezzling from the district. I worked fulltime at the bar, turning skittish as Southaven Mutant Treatment Clinic in Blackhawk increasingly became a topic of conversation between my parents. Then the day came when I was told a Dr. Rao was coming to the house to layout some options for me.

I left that night. I got caught and sent to Southaven. I left again and again and again, until I finally got far enough to be gone.

Whatever lessons I should have learned from running away aside, the one that stuck was that if I couldn't put up a convincing well-adjusted front, I'd be sent away, whether it be to some obscure clinic deemed "the best place for me" or out onto the streets.

That's why it'd been so simple for Mystique to trick me with her Bobby routine. I'd messed up and proven that I didn't even fit in with other mutants, so I had to go. It was a terrible feeling, being told I wasn't wanted by someone I'd thought was a friend. But, in the context of my life, it'd made perfect sense.

Bobby, who'd, at that time, still had a loving family tucked neatly away in Boston, hadn't see the logic in it anywhere. "You should've known better," he'd said after the Logan in my mind had receded and I was no longer too strange to be around. "This is your home. No one's ever going to make you leave. Not if I have anything to say about it." He'd given me a grin then, his blue eyes and his affection appealingly clear. I'd basked in his stability even as I'd begrudged it. Trusting stability was something I had to relearn. That was a weakness.

God knows, if there's one thing that frustrates me in this world it's my own flaws. The many dents and humps on the surface of my Play-Doh mind invariably catch my eye just when I think I've finished molding the perfect sphere. Sometimes, I just want to give up already. I want to squeeze the Play-Doh between my knuckles, toss the whole mess over my shoulder, and start fresh. That was the appeal of letting Warbird take over for those two weeks in New York City and the seven months I'd been comatose after. She'd been the mental equivalent of saying, "Fuck it," and plopping my ass onto the curb.

No start-over-fresh Play-Doh for me when I'd eventually woken up, though. Just the old version, with plenty of green on the surface but a more volatile swirl of other colors pressed down inside. My continual rolling slowed. The ease at which I'd let Warbird overtake my sense of self shamed and alarmed me.

I didn't let it show, obviously. That wouldn't be very well-adjusted of me. I kept the surface smooth enough, but I avoided my usual introspective habits. I did manage to content myself for a while. Rooming with Scott in Washington, working at the White House – I really had felt useful. Stable.

Then Logan had come back from Vietnam. Two years he'd been gone, and his return on the morning of my twenty-second birthday had launched me into a state of pure joy. We'd hugged and he'd touched me the way only he could, skin to skin, and I'd cried and laughed and gone to work riding high. That feeling tricked me into believing I could be this happy every day, from now right on down to blessed eternity. I'd forgotten the rules of happiness dictate that, no matter how great my surroundings looked, I couldn't really be happy if I didn't like myself.


	22. Process of Becoming, 2

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Can't Buy Me Love ~_

In glorious optimism-drenched self-denial, I murmur-hummed a semi-recognizable version of "I've Got You Under My Skin" to myself as I unlocked the door to my apartment. Inside, there was Logan, looking for the all world like he'd just been waiting for me to come home. My outrageously cheerful mood further brightened.

"Hey," he greeted. He was sprawled out on my living room couch, drink in hand, TV on ESPN. Curious, that his habits were so similar to Scott's.

"Hey yourself." I tossed my keys and purse down on the counter by the door, which separated the kitchen area from the open living room. With a satisfied sigh, I slipped out of my low heels and suit jacket. I'd been waiting since this morning to again go gloveless in the carefree company of Logan. Off they went.

My original impulse was to bounce right into the seat beside him and, I don't know, start petting him or something, but a self-preserving hesitation kept me lingering by the door. I wasn't so giddy I didn't recognize the wisdom in treading lightly. The reality of the situation was not pleasant. Before Logan's abrupt departure, both of us had made the admittedly hasty decision to sleep together. Only I'd stood by it. Logan had said he'd made a mistake.

But was an itty bitty little thing like Logan's complete lack of cooperation going to keep us from our inevitable future of uninterrupted, life-long bliss? Pfft.

This was a battle of wills. To convince Logan that I was both well-adjusted and well-worth it, I was going to have to out-stubborn the master. No easy challenge, but I was determined. I was going to be poised, confidant, entertaining, and unobtrusive. I was going to be better than who I was; I was going to be everything I thought Logan wanted and nothing he didn't. I was going to win, all right.

Unaware of my absurd plotting, Logan inquired, "So, how was work?" The question couldn't have pleased me more. It set the perfect tone. Everyday casual, as if he'd sat on that same couch and asked me that same question a million times before.

"Excellent," I chirped. "There was cake." Going around the counter and into the kitchen, I added, "And Scott treated me to a really nice lunch."

"Oh, yeah?" Unenthused, Logan asked, "When can we expect him?"

"Not until Sunday. He left right after his last appointment. He's probably back at the School already." I opened the refrigerator to see if Logan had finished off all my good beer. "The School feels strange now, doesn't it? All the new buildings and the quad and everything. I guess it had to be done, though."

"Definitely needed the space," he responded in a tone of agreement, if not approval.

I spotted a lonely bottle of Molson tucked behind the untouched Corona. Lip twitched up, I noted, "Awfully courteous of you to save me one."

"Didn't think you'd miss 'em." Logan turned his neck and shoulders to fix me with a look. "You got a hell of a lot of alcohol in there, kid."

I laughed, using a bottle opener to pop off the top. "I haven't turned into a lush, Logan. It's for tonight."

"Right. Bobby and…" – the rest of my friends' names were waved off – "are coming up. Big plans?"

"The usual," I shrugged, leaning on the edge of the counter. "We'll drink a little here, meet a couple of my DC friends at the bars, come back, sleep it off. Oh, and they'll give me my presents. They're nice, so I know they won't hold out on me."

With one booted toe, Logan nudged the pile of open presents in front of him on the coffee table: an artisan-made blanket from Storm, a comprehensive record of everything Dr. McCoy had ever known or theorized about my mutation, half a dozen novels from the Professor – ever the educator, he was personally seeing to it that I was more than well-read – and a whole bag full of goodies from Kurt. Logan's present, however, was still hidden away in his black duffel bag, which he lifted to place on the cushion next to him. He toyed with the zipper.

"Tease," I complained, loving the excuse to pout. Pouting was sexy, right?

"What I got you won't even be here 'til next week, have some patience," Logan smirked. Undeniably sexy.

"Ah-ha, a clue. Must be something from Japan."

He toasted my deductive reasoning skills with his Molson.

Striking a pondering pose, I queried, "If I guessed, would you tell – "

The words "Mutant Registration Act," coming from the TV, elicited my sudden and complete attention. _Around the Horn_ wasn't exactly known for its political commentary.

"…has created a ripple effect that's stirring up even the sports world. Patriots managing staff under fire this week after benching number three draft pick, running back Steve Rohl, at last Sunday's opening game, citing injury and poor practice performance. Rohl himself has yet to release a statement, prompting many to wonder if reports of Rohl's mutant status are really behind New England's sudden disdain for the former up-and-comer. Politics mudding the waters at Gillette Stadium?" the host inquired of his sportswriter panelists. "Buy or sell? Fusco."

"I gotta sell this. Allegedly, Rohl's mutation or 'power,' whatever you want to call it, is changing the properties of liquids. Water to Gatorade to chocolate milk – Who cares? Guy's a walking vending machine, not a threat to anyone's political agenda. Guy didn't live up to expectations in training camp, so he didn't start. End of story."

"All right, Booker Allen."

"I'm not only buying it, I'm approving it. It's about time somebody took a stand on mutant athletes. You get a guy, a mutant, who's like The Flash out there on that field and where's fair? PC-types like it or not, the mutant gene is a steroid and the MRA is the best drug test we got for it. The purity of the game is at stake, here. I'm not saying – " Boyd's grating voice rose over the exasperated noises of his fellow panelists. "Costa – Costa, can I finish?"

"Say your piece," the host allowed, making simmer down motions.

"I'm not saying Rohl should be kicked out of the NFL. From what Fusco said, sounds to me like he'd make a phenomenal water boy."

Costa gave Allen and his one-sided laughter the ten-second mute, taking away one point from his score. "Anything for a joke. Bad form, old man. Webber, you're up."

Webber, who'd booed Allen, shook his head. "I'm buying the conspiracy theory, but disagreeing with everything else that came out of Booker's fool mouth, as usual. The mutant gene is a steroid? Come on. What kind of comparison is that? It occurs naturally in the body; it's not a foreign element. The Patriots' owners are giving into pressure from people who use words like 'purity' to talk about keeping otherwise faultless athletes like Rohl from doing their jobs. Let him play."

"Cobbes?"

"Look, I don't like this any more than Webber does, but I can't sidestep the issue like Fusco. I have to agree with Allen on this one. I'm buying the response to Rohl as the first sign of no tolerance to mutants in professional sports. What I don't buy is the idea that New England's owners are thinking politically. They're thinking in practical business terms. Athletes are commodities, they're not sideshow acts. Nobody wants to see one guy running a million circles around everybody else. That would throw off the entire game. Football's an institution. Nobody wants to see it changed. Unless we can find a way to make sure they're not using their naturally unfair advantages, mutant athletes are just going to have find themselves another venue."

Allen cracked, "They can try the X-Games."

With a low, disgusted growl, Logan flipped channels.

"You won't get better survey of differing opinions on mutants," I mused before taking a very long drink.

"Can't believe that bullshit. Mutant Registration Act. Keeping that from getting passed was supposed to be the goddamned be all and end all, wasn't it? Bullshit," he repeated bitterly.

I was glad I could only see the back of his head. No way I could have looked him in the eye just then. The Registration Act had passed because people had died. They'd died because the Jr. X-Men had only partially saved the day. Had Logan, Storm, and Scott been the ones handling the situation…Well, along with the reversal of countless other evils, Logan would have one less thing to bitch about.

As it was, I leaned over the counter and fished my wallet out of my purse. Taking out my MR Card, I went over to stand behind the him, elbows rested on the back of the couch. "It's just an ID. See?" I handed the card to him so he could take a closer look. "The only thing that matters is making sure the information isn't misused. That's what we fight for now. That's actually why Scott's at the School. He arranged this really important meeting – The ACLU and the National Council for Mutant Affairs sitting down with Congresswoman Reis-Steeves and Professor Xavier to discuss the MRA and the midterm elections. Could be a huge step for us."

Logan bent my MR Card slightly between his thumb and forefinger. "Ten steps back, one step forward," he muttered.

"You're not suggesting we give up?" It wasn't really a question. More a challenge.

He glanced up at my resolute expression, and his softened. "'Course not. You're doing right." Eyes back on my MR Card, he ran his blunt thumbnail under my name. "'Rogue M. D'Ancanto.' M for Marie."

There was a lot of satisfaction packed into my smile. He'd remembered my old name, the name I'd told him only once, nearly five years ago, for no good reason, except that I'd wanted to sass him. "Yep. I had it legally changed. There's a common usage clause for mutants, makes it really simple to do. Hardly any paperwork."

"What was it before?"

"M. for Marie. My full name is Anna Marie, but my momma was Annie and my grandmomma was Anna, so I was Marie."

He flickered a sidelong look my way. Whatever he might have said was forgotten when he noticed, "'Class 4?' The hell does that mean?"

Sarcastically, I drawled, "Means I'm dangerous."

"So dangerous they got you working for the President? Saving his life?"

Oh, he'd heard about that? I couldn't help preening, just a little. "Well, that's not something I do every day."

"What is it you do every day?"

"Mm, exciting things." I leaned in closer and lowered my voice conspiratorially. "You know those super secret documents only the highest ups get to see?"

"Yeah?"

"I put those on President McKenna's desk."

The glint in his eyes told me he was willing to play along. "Really?"

"Honest to God truth. And during conferences, the big important ones, sometimes I wait outside and play Tetris on my cell phone."

"Get out."

"Impressive, I know."

As I formed the 'o' sound with my lips, our faces so close together, I didn't want to think of any battle of wills. I wanted to think only of kissing Logan without fear, for as long and as hard as I could.

Resisting took extraordinary grit. Timing was essential to my strategy. Tomorrow, I'd kiss him. Then I figured I'd just have to wait a day or two while he hemmed and hawed and moralized before I could ultimately declare myself victorious. There was a la-di-da to do fundraiser for Congresswoman Reis-Steeves next week. By then, I told myself, I was sure he'd be my date –official, forever and ever, practically married.

I should've known not to lay a trap for Logan. He'll spot your trap at fifty paces, and when he's through disarming it, you're next.


	23. Process of Becoming, 3

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Don't Be Cruel ~_

Yep, I definitely should have known better. Whenever I had tried to uncomplicated things for the sake of convenience and expediency in the past, they always blew up in my face. But what can I say? My learning curve had flat-lined at the sight of Logan's warm, tan, hallelujah-touchable skin.

Swallowing a Cheshire grin, I plucked my MR Card from his fingers and retreated to the safety of the kitchen. In a more normal voice, I continued explaining, "Really, I'm not even officially working at the White House. They bounce me between the Secret Service, who don't trust me, and the Office of Presidential Personnel, who abuse me like an intern. To be perfectly honest, nothing I do couldn't be done by someone already working there. Even saving President McKenna, my one shiny moment, I'm fairly certain could've been handled without me."

Brow furrowed, Logan watched me put my MR Card back into my purse. "If it's so meaningless to you, why bother?"

"I don't think it's meaningless. Sadly, far as day-to-day access to the President goes, there definitely aren't very many mutants out there who have higher-ranking positions than mine. Plus, I'm not just any mutant, I'm an X-Man. Currently, the only one with a name and a face." Grandly, I spread my hands. "I have acquired symbolic meaning."

Logan gave me his head-tilt, lip-quirk of wry approval. "Come and get your present, kid."

"Yay. Don't mind if I do." Plucking up my beer, I went around to his side of the couch. The coffee table was so close, I ended up standing between his knees, more or less.

He didn't comment on my closeness. From his bag, he took out a slim, white envelope. He exchanged it for my beer.

Smile at full wattage, I tore the envelope open. Instead of the card I'd expected there was a folded piece of paper. I pulled it open and didn't have to read very far before I knew exactly what was being shipped to me from Japan.

"Wha…Gah…" Unable to express the whole of my gratitude in words, I opted for strangled monosyllables. I soon gave up all dignity and resorted to jumping up and down in front of him like he was Bob Barker and I'd just won _The Price is_ _Right_. Logan followed my bouncing with his eyes. I got the heady sensation he wasn't exactly concentrating on my face.

He'd bought me a motorcycle. A Suzuki GSX-R750, mostly black with green and white stripes. I gaped at the printed-out picture. He usually just snuck me out for beers, for God's sake. I lowered the paper, so I could focus my gape on his face.

Logan scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I figured, since I taught you to ride, you should have one," he explained, as if that was reason enough to spend literally thousands of dollars on me.

"Shit, Logan. By your logic, Storm should've gotten me a jet. But thank you," I said, everything my grandmomma'd taught me about manners packed into those last two words.

With a satisfied smirk, he handed me back my beer. "You're welcome, kid."

I sank into the cushion beside Logan contentedly, my back pressed against his elbow. Taking the hint, he raised his arm around my shoulders and I scooted against his side. I grinned happily at him, thinking genuinely, Everything's going so well.

Smirk still in place, he took the last swig of his beer. His eyes strayed back to the TV, but I didn't mind. This was like old times; he got peace, I got proximity. Plus, I got a chance to study him closely and at least semi-surreptitiously. There was a definite pinch to the corners of his eyes. He was exhausted and seemed to be holding himself with a certain amount of tension.

The past two years had been rough on him, he'd said as much in the message I still had saved on the answering machine. He'd also said the things he'd found out about his past, they weren't pretty. "But I guess we never thought they would be," he'd added. His use of we – meaning you and I, him and me – made my chest tighten every time I thought of it. We. He'd included me into his thought process, which gave me a place in his past, if only by way of the future.

"So, when're you free tomorrow?" Logan inquired.

"Bobby and Jubilee and everyone have to leave in the morning, because they have, I don't know, tests to study for and papers to write, I guess." I snorted, remembering those days well. Suckers. Flashing him a grin, I clarified, "So I'm all yours until Monday morning."

"Okay." Not exactly an enthusiastic response. More apprehensive. "We can talk tomorrow, then."

I bit back my grin and attempted to catch his eye. "Sure, if you want to. Definitely."

Voice clipped, he replied, "Good."

Lifting my wrist , I lightly brushed the pads of my fingertips along the dips between his knuckles. I meant it as a reassuring gesture, but his skin felt so wonderfully smooth and dry against mine I couldn't help turning the motion into a caress. His whole hand flinched before stiffing into a poor semblance of relaxation. Evidently, he was willing to let me touch him, but not willing to let himself enjoy it. My fingertips fell away.

Attention focused on balancing my beer bottle on my knee, I said, "We can talk a little now, if you want." Before he could flinch again, I hurriedly added, "I mean, if you'd rather talk about…what you found out…tomorrow, that's your call, but you could give me at least some idea of what you were doing." Looking up at him, I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice when I pointed out softly, "Two years is a long time, Logan."

"You want to talk about Vietnam." He said it like the thought hadn't occurred to him.

"Well, don't you? Your message said…"

"Oh, right. We can talk about that, too, if you want. But I was just gonna let you read my file when your computer friend gets it decrypted."

"You mean Kitty?"

"Kitty," he agreed.

The prospect of sitting in front of an impersonal computer screen and clicking my way through his past was not the least bit appealing. In quiet earnest, I said, "I'd rather you told me yourself."

He shrugged, lifting his arm from around my shoulders in the same movement. "Figured it'd save some time if you just knew everything I'd done."

I scooted sideways so I could see his face better. "Logan, that's never mattered to me. All I care about is how it affects you now."

"Still." He crossed his arms over his chest, not quite looking at me. "It's only fair. I read yours."

For a second, I thought that he meant Stryker had had a file on me, too, but his line of sight directed me to the large binder of medical records Dr. McCoy had given me, along with a note reading, "The greatest gift is the gift of knowledge."

I'd flipped through the binder that morning before going to work, unable to bring myself to read more than a line here and there. As far as I could tell, every visit to the med lab I'd made since the day I'd set foot in the School was accounted meticulously, sometimes to the point of what looked like full transcription. Dr. McCoy had included charts and graphs, analysis, interviews with Logan, the Professor…The thoroughness of the thing unsettled me. I could imagine how painfully detailed the records of the Warbird incident had to be; my intentionally selective memory would be fully supplemented by Dr. McCoy's close observations and the Professor's all-knowingness.

Shame and anxiety and pride leapt into my throat. Swallowing, I managed, "You didn't have my permission to look at that."

Logan shrugged again, unconvincingly this time. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Liar."

There was anger in his eyes as they snapped onto mine. He kept his tone carefully in check, saying, "Two years is a long time, I agree. The Professor told me some of what you did, I was just playing catch-up."

"What I did," I echoed, bitterness getting the best of me. Not what had happened to me, what I'd done. Who I'd become – a murderer, a traitor, a sociopath – because of what I'd done. "Thanks for the compassion, Logan. You're a real friend."

"Rogue, don't get self-righteous on me, you know I didn't mean it like that. Look, maybe I shouldn't have read your files, fine. I'm sorry. But I had to know everything before I could help you."

"There are so many things wrong with that sentiment. First off, you didn't even bother to ask me. Second, I don't know what you know. I haven't read any of that yet, I don't know what's in there. I don't even know what the Professor told you. God, Logan, I don't talk about you with the Professor behind your back. Third – Help me? You're a day late and a dollar short, bub. I'm fine. I've been fine for months. And even if you had been there, what would you have been able to do for me? Nothing. It was my problem, I handled it, the end."

"Liar." His tone held disappointment, not incrimination.

I focused my burning eyes on the where the edge of the living room rug met wood flooring. "No. As far you're concerned…The end."

We were both silent for a long time. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I'd known he'd find out about Warbird. I'd even been prepared to deliver a nice little speech about how hard it had been, how much I regretted what had happened. Something so eloquent and heartbreaking that I'd come off guiltless as a saint and the subject would be dropped forever.

And, damn it, how fucking artificial could I possibly make myself? My anger turned inward and cold, winding my insides so tight I was left shaky. Pitifully, I finally asked, "What do you want from me?"

"I want – I want you to give me a chance. I know what you're going through. I've had people fuck with my head, too. So give me a chance. You haven't talked to me since – Okay, it's your life. I get that. I'm not gonna try to tell you what to do, but this…I can help."

"I'm sorry. It's just – You know, I really do not want to talk about any of this. I'm being completely honest, okay? I don't feel like I need to, so, please, can you just take what you know and…forget it?"

"Rogue, I think you're still confusing being honest with being right."

Wondering what he meant by that, I turned my watery gaze on him.

Logan's eyes reflected the worst kind of hurt. I'd only seen that expression twice before; once, the morning after, when I'd accused him of breaking his promise to take care of me, and, the first time, when I'd walked out on him after he'd tried to give me advice I hadn't wanted to hear. Now, I realized, I'd done again. Something I'd said – everything I'd said – I'd dismissed his opinion completely and cut him down.

I marveled at my own selfishness. "You know, I like to tell people you're my best friend, but what does that even mean? We hardly ever talk about anything real, and when we do we fight. I have you in my head and you've saved my life so many times, but what've I ever done but give you grief and generally annoy you?"

"Don't be like that, Rogue. You know just you needing me has done more for me than – "

"Yeah, but I hate it. I absolutely hate needing you. Doesn't that negate it somehow? Holy shit. And here I was, thinking that we could – Do you ever think about that night at all?"

"Christ." He obviously hadn't expected me to be that direct, and, really, neither had I. "Yeah, I think about it."

"And?"

"And I remember you – " He stopped himself, lips compressed into a tight line.

"What? You remember me what?"

"I remember you had your eyes closed. The whole time, your eyes were closed."

I started to say, "That's not true," but trailed off, realizing that I couldn't remember if it was or wasn't. I started to laugh. Not a pleasant sound, even to my own ears, but it was the only release I had, so ignored Logan's look of concern. When my cell phone began ringing in my purse, I laughed on my to answering it.

"What's up, dude?" I greeted chirpily, knowing by the ringtone that it was Keller.

"Happy motherfucking birthday, gorgeous," Keller responded. In the background, I could hear Jubilee, Peter, Bobby, and Kitty echoing his birthday wishes.

"Aw, thanks, guys." Lowering the phone, I said, "Logan, I'll be right back." Breezy as can be, as if we'd just been discussing hockey scores or hypothesizing about why in the hell Mel Gibson felt the need to engage the bad guy in a homoerotic, shirtless mud-wresting contest at the end of _Lethal Weapon_ – our usual brand of profound conversation. Frustrated at myself, I shut my bedroom door a little harder than necessary.

Keller didn't notice. Enthusiastically he said, "Big two-two. How's it fucking feel?"

"Feels fucking wonderful."

"Fan-fucking-tastic. Well, we're on our way. We should be there in an hour and half, but Bobby's driving, so it'll probably be more like three."

Distantly, I heard Bobby return, "Oh, haha."

Apparently close to the phone, Jubilee said clearly, "We'll be there asap, chica. We've got a lot of drinking to do to make up for twenty-one in a coma."

"For sure," I laughed. Her references to the Warbird incident – any aspect of it – were fine by me. They turned the whole thing into a joke.

"Yeah, Rogue, listen," Keller continued. "Cyclops gave us the number of a pizza place around you, so we'll pick that up on our way. He said you already had alcohol at your apartment, but, at the bars, we've got the tab. You and me, we'll go SoCo shot for shot, and then we'll see how much vodka we can pour down the throat of this Russian bastard before he breaks out into his stunning rendition of 'If I Were Rich Man' again. I'll never get tired of that accent."

I might have been hearing things, but I thought that Peter's, "Fuck off, Abdel-Haq," sounded much less genial than it might normally have. To me, it didn't sound like he was quite as over the break-up as Jubilee seemed to think.

"The game plan, doll-face, is for you to have a drink in hand all night. I'm going to personally make fucking sure of it."

"Keller, that is the best game plan I have ever heard in my entire twenty-two years of living. Hurry your asses down here."

I had just closed the phone when there was a knock at my bedroom door. Plastering a smile onto my face, I opened it for Logan. "Yep?"

"I'm gonna go," he said, without prelude.

"Don't," I practically yelped.

"Just out for a while, kid," he clarified. "I'll be back."

My heart pounded back into motion. "Oh, um, then I guess you should take the spare key. It's in the bowl of change by the door."

"Okay. You have a good time tonight, Rogue."

"Thanks. You, too, Logan."

This was a natural time for a hug, but we were being so forcedly polite with each other, I shifted back a step instead.

Logan cleared his throat. "Well. See ya." And then he was across the living room, picking up his jacket; he was by the bar, adding the spare key to his key ring; he was out the door, asking himself why he even gave me the time of day.

Well, I couldn't actually speak for him on that account, but I knew I sure was.


	24. Process of Becoming, 4

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ A Hard Day's Night ~_

Wondering how Logan must see me was depressingly paralyzing. It was too big, and I knew too much, most of it conflicting, some of it damning, and a lot of it buried deep. I was on the edge of a cliff, here. If I started reevaluating how things between Logan and I had gotten this way, I'd fall.

I needed cheering up. Logan had told me to have a good time tonight, right? That was a get-out-of-guilt-free card if I'd ever received one. Taking my cell with me, I sat back down on the living room couch. From a white gift bag, I took out a velvet box. Inside, there was a small, very basic, silver cross. I clasped the thin chain around my neck, adjusting it with one hand as I scrolled down my contact list looking for Kurt's number.

It rang just twice before his comforting voice answered, "Hallo?"

Instantly all grins, I responded, "Hi, Kurt."

"Anna Marie, Alles Gute zum Geburtstag. I was just thinking about you, you know. I wondered, how has your birthday been?"

"It's been great. Thank you so much for your presents. I love the book of Rilke poems, and I'm wearing the necklace right now."

"Oh gut, you like it?"

"Sehr viel."

"Wunderbar. You sound so happy. I knew you would be. Your friend has returned."

"Yeah. It's good to have him back." I added, "It's really good," because I'd forgotten until just now how relieved I'd been this morning. I finally knew that Logan was safe, and that was something to be infinitely grateful for, even if he wasn't exactly pleased with the way I'd dealt with things in his absence.

I didn't realize how long I'd been silent until Kurt said tentatively, "You have not seen each other in a long time. You both are different now, perhaps?"

"A little." I nearly told him about our fight, but I didn't care to open those floodgates, not when I had just over an hour to kill before Keller and Jubilee and everyone would be there to enable my denial. Instead I assured him, "I'm trying really hard not to seem different, though."

"You will seem as you are. You cannot hide that, not from someone who knows you so well. Trying would feel dishonest, ja?"

"I guess it would." To myself I amended, Except that I'm really fucking great at being disingenuous.

"You be you," Kurt continued. "You he loves. How could he not?"

My chest tightened with affection. "I love you, Kurt."

"Natürlich. How could you not?" he teased. There was some background noise. "One moment, bitte." Holding the phone closer to my ear, I managed to place Storm's low voice. After a second, Kurt said, "I am sorry, I must go now. I have made dinner plans."

Tone overly casual, I asked, "Oh? With Storm? Anything…special?"

"How do you mean?" Poor Kurt sounded puzzled.

"Never mind. Tell her I said thank you for the blanket. It's beautiful."

"I will pass on your thanks."

"All right. Bye, Kurt. Have a great time." If he'd been any of my other friends, I might have supplemented, "Seriously, you two should probably just get hammered and go at it already," but he was Kurt and she was Storm, both veritably cloistered, so I said nothing of the kind. I merely amused myself with the idea.

"Gleichfalls. Biss bahlt, Mein Lamm."

My lamb. I bit back sudden, bitter laughter as I snapped closed my phone. He'd been calling me that almost as long as I'd known him, but I wasn't so docile and innocent now, was I? I was, again, a murderer and a traitor and a sociopath, a would-be rapist, and, to top it all off, a bad friend.

Movements slow and dense, I went back into my room. To stave off the angst, I did that terrific, terrible thing I can do. I pushed all potentially painful thoughts away from my consciousness by restricting my myself to surface-level thinking.

That required music, so I flipped on my laptop. Singing along to Elvis, I changed into suitable bar-hopping attire – a clingy long-sleeved black top and the most expensive, risqué pair of jeans I owned, due on both counts to the so-advertised designer holes and fringe. By the time I was redressed, "A Little Less Conversation" had changed to The Beatles' "Help!" and, after a few bars, I clicked to the next song. Sometimes iTunes shuffle had far too insightful a sense of humor for my liking.

I was mindlessly creating a new playlist when my doorbell rang. "Just a second," I called out, hurrying to slip on the pair of gloves I had laid out while I walked.

"Don't bother, I got it," came Keller's muffled reply. There was clicking noise and the door opened wide. Keller came through the door, four pizza boxes hovering beside his head. Kitty and Jubilee ducked under them, teetering on high heels as they tottered toward me. They grabbed me in a hug, their faces awkwardly tilted away from mine.

"Where's the sex?" Jubilee wanted to know, leering over my shoulder as if Logan was due at any moment for a naked stroll out of my bedroom.

"He went out, but he'll be back. Hey, Bobby," I disengaged from Jubilee and Kitty so I could lean over to give him a hug. I felt a light pat on my back and turned around to smile at Peter. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't have missed it," he replied, a nice attempt at enthusiasm. I felt like giving Jubilee a quick kick to the shin for breaking the poor guy's heart, but I figured I had no room to judge. However callous she'd been to Peter, it was nothing compared to how I'd been to Logan.

From the kitchen, Keller called, "Rogue, first mixed drink of the night. What'll it be?"

"Um, rum and Coke. No, Sprite and vodka."

"Both it is," Keller replied.

"Bring 'em on. I can drink faster than you can pour," I challenged.

I had a nice buzz going before we'd even finished pizza. Thanks to Logan's healing factor I really had to make an effort to get shit-faced, so I kept downing whatever Keller handed me and remained gleefully tipsy as we went from my apartment to the first bar to the next and so on. For once, I allowed myself to act less than my age. It felt good. Too good, because I opened my mouth and started talking.

First to Jubilee in the ladies room. She was updating me on the Peter and Keller situation while we took turns peeing in the stall. "So, you know, we've been doing the partner-switching thing for this side of forever, right? And now Peter chooses to get all clingy about it? Nuh-uh. We had a good thing going, and he screwed it up. But you want to know the really fucked up thing?" she asked, pulling up her thong.

"I should wear thongs," I said, head lolled against the decidedly unhygienic door.

"Peter only wants to a commitment out of me because Kitty and Bobby are getting engaged, and he's full-on in denial-love with dear little Kit-Kat – who, not to be gross, but, seriously, he would break in half."

I chose not to dwell on the imagery. "Bobby and Kitty are engaged?"

She shooed me out of the stall door and I pushed my way to the crowded sinks with my uncovered hands well above my head.

"Nearly," Jubilee replied, pumping out soap. "She's picking out rings, he's trying to pretend that he's not outrageously psyched to be Mr. Susie Homemaker. Boring! Myself, I don't want comfortable. I want all-consuming passion, even if I have to love 'em and leave 'em."

"Preach it, sister," a girl with hair the color of my bangs testified.

"Woo to third-wave feminism and all," I said, scrubbing my hands harder than was necessary, "But I, if you remember, have a condition."

"What you have is baggage," was Jubilee's snorted reply. "I bet you had abstinence-only education down there in Mississippi, and I further bet that you were one out of maybe fifteen people in the entire United States that it actually worked on. Your first kiss was, what, when you were sixteen?"

"Almost seventeen, and that turned out real well," I drawled, drying my hands on the seat of my jeans since the contents of the paper towel dispenser was currently trampled under a never-ending swarm of stiletto heels.

"Exactly, chica. I mean, fuck's sake, you've clearly got issues with your sexuality."

I jammed my hands into my gloves significantly.

"I call bullshit. You could have sex if you wanted and you damn sure could invest in some quality stress-releasers. But you're so hooked on this fantasy, this myth that sex is something more than people rubbing against each other with varying amounts of affection to varying degrees of satisfaction."

Not anymore. The myth was dead. Stone-faced, I blurted, "When I had sex with Logan my eyes were closed the whole time, and I didn't even realize it."

Strangely enough, Jubilee's reaction mirrored my own. She burst out laughing. Slammed her hand against the wall. Howled. Then sobered up enough to take me by the shoulders and give me a good shake. "Oh, Rogue. That is beyond a shadow of a doubt the absolute saddest thing I have ever heard."

About the long and the short of it. Happy birthday to me. "I need more to drink."

Jubilee followed me closely out the door, patting my back sympathetically.

She put Keller on cheer-up duty, which resulted in an obscene amount of shots in very few minutes. My friends from work, Ellie, Stephanie, and Kyle, wished me a forgiving hangover and dropped out about one o'clock. Keller and I ended up splitting a bottle's worth of Jäger at the bar.

"I am a horrible person," I announced at the end of it, my head chin cradled on both my hands.

"You? No," Keller slurred. "You're lovely. You're my friend."

"I'm a horrible friend, you don't even know. Listen – listen to this." I shushed him even though he wasn't talking. "Listen. All I want to do is have sex with Logan, and all he wants to do is share feelings."

Keller about fell off his stool. Goody that my pathetic love life was the cause for so much high comedy. When he was finally able to right himself, Keller could only shake his head. "Two years in the jungle with a couple of butcher-than-thou lesbians and even the mostly manly of men will come out the other end sans sex drive. Duly noted."

"I don't think it was the lesbians. I think it was me. I think I'm, like, the anti-aphrodisiac. I'm the person – you know when you're supposed to think of someone hideous, like Margaret Thatcher in a string bikini – that's me. I'm the killer of erections. Men, guard your penises."

"Objection," he said, hitting his fist like a gavel. "You're swinging ass and titties. I'll have sex with you right here. Right now. Bye-bye V-Card."

"I'm not a virgin. I had sex with Logan once already and, apparently, it sucked for him."

"Get the fuck out of town. How did I not know that? When was it?"

"Years ago."

"Mm, Wolverine's a cradle robber."

"The cradle wasn't particularly well-guarded in this case."

"So more like he was rocking the cradle of love?"

I would've rolled my eyes, but I was feeling too dizzy. "Thank you, Billy Idol."

"Tell me one thing. Was it a gentle rocking, or are we talking shaken baby syndrome?"

I tried to smack him but was stopped by his telekinesis.

"Easy, Birdie. Violence."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm just saying. There's a delicate moral balance here."

"Don't lecture me about morality, you slut."

"Says the lady of easy virtue."

I considered that longer and harder than Keller could've have intended. Easy virtue, indeed. Not in the sexual sense. I knew virginity was no indicator of goodness. Rather, what I saw in myself was an fatal design flaw. When it came right down to it, wasn't I was only as virtuous as the last person I touched? Did it really matter what I thought or who I wanted to be when I could be summarily erased at any given moment?

Slumped over the bar, I only vaguely noted Keller getting up to intervene in an argument between Jubilee and Peter. Bobby acted as mediator between the boys, while Kitty guided a green-looking Jubilee to the bathroom.

Fucked up beyond all repair, every last one of us. And the funny thing was, we were supposed to have better and more important things on our minds. We were supposed to be goddamn superheroes.

Grimly, I tossed back another Jägerbomb as a toast to the sanity-decimating powers of the love triangle. How the hell had we all gotten caught up in them? From day one it there was unspoken tension between Bobby, me, and John, a kid's table parallel of Scott, Jean, and Logan. Now that Peter-Jubilee-Keller was coming to a head, and you could just bet that Bobby-Kitty-Peter would be next.

I was in a triangle right now. Logan, me, and false expectations.

Overwhelmingly tired in spite of the Red Bull, I pulled out my phone. I was thinking about a warm taxi driving me to my warm bed, but, predictably, I pressed 1 on my contacts and wondered if Logan bothered to keep his old emergency cell phone on him.

He answered on the second ring, sounding like I'd jerked him out of sleep. "You all right, kid?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just – " After two years, it was a kind of miracle to actually be able to get into touch with him so easily. I found I couldn't articulate myself. "Don't worry, this is not a rescue situation."

"But you need something?" There was a hopeful note to Logan's voice that I grasped onto.

"If you don't mind. I need – I need to talk."

There was a long silence. Then, "Where?"

Tears of relief sprang to my eyes. "It can wait until tomorrow. I wanted to make sure, you know, you were still willing."

"Anything you need. You should know that."

I had to laugh a little as I hid my face in my palm. "I really don't know why you bother," I replied, asking for forgiveness through humility. "I'm a hot mess with delusions of mental stability."

"Good thing I know a something about that," he said.

Logan had been back for less than twenty-four hours and that was the second voluntary comparison he'd made between us. I could make others. Isolated. Self-consumed. Aged by forgotten and false histories.

I was suddenly struck by the idea that, from the beginning, we were strangers who loved each other better than ourselves for no other reason than recognition. We'd exchanged sidelong glances and known, instantly, who the other was because we were the same. Mutants with no place to call home and no one to miss us when we were gone.

People and powers and politics had complicated us, but that foundation was still there. Our belief in it was mutual and unshakable.

"Kid?"

I broke out into a smile. "I was just remembering why I love you so much. I'll be home soon," I added, before he had time to respond. "Goodnight, Logan."

"See you tomorrow." And then, somehow better than "I love you," he said, "Marie."


	25. Process of Becoming, 5

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ An American Trilogy ~_

I woke up that next morning still thinking about Logan, and how well I really knew him versus how well I should know him by now, and how many times I'd thought I'd gotten realistic only to fall back into denial.

Cocooned in a tight ball under my covers and not wanting to peek out from the warmth, I conceded that this was pretty much how I lived my life. Comfortable and contained. Untouchable. Alone, even if the dip in the mattress and the snoring told me that Peter of all people had crashed on my bed.

With my comforter wrapped securely me like a tent, I waddled into the hall bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I dropped my covering symbolically.

The metamorphosis was unspectacular.

I looked not so much wizened by experience than tired and unkempt. Sighing at my reflection, I got into the shower. Where had I picked up the notion that change was instantaneous?

People change, I thought. Forwards and backwards and sideways. Moreover, they're not consistent. Every single person I had ever known had surprised me at some point, either by doing something incredible or acting out of character. I knew that. Yet I was guilty of assuming that the people around me would always match up with the idea I'd created of them. Change is the only constant. There was no such thing as a static human being. If someone seemed that way – if I thought Logan was that way – it was only because I'd failed to notice their dynamics.

I lectured myself, One-dimensional caricatures make for fine acquaintances, but true friends should always be three-dimensionally real. They're so much more fascinating that way. Real people have intricacies and secrets and are constantly evolving right before my eyes.

Logan – who I thought of as a rock, who I thought I understood because I had snapshots of him, a photo album of conflicting thoughts and memories collecting dust in my head – had changed more than anyone I knew. He came into my life completely out of left field. I never could have predicted that some guy I happened to see cage fighting in a backwoods Canadian bar would turn out to be so irreplaceable in my life.

Honestly, the first things I'd noticed about Logan were that he was extremely violent and extremely hot. I'd stood in awe of both those things, but I didn't thought to myself, Gee, I bet that he's really caring and noble on the inside. No. It was more like, Oh my God, he's kicking that guy's ass, and, Damn, look at those muscles. I hitched a ride with him because he'd seen through me. Because of that, I was much less afraid of him than I was of being left alone with a bunch of gun-toting, anti-mutant bigots.

Lo and behold, he turned out to be a nice guy. Rather brusque, but he fed me so I decided to overlook that little flaw. Really, I was prepared to forgive him all sorts of things. It had been some time since I'd come across any other mutant, let alone one who was older than I was. Logan was obviously strong and, despite my brave front, I wasn't. I figured that if I could get him to like me, he'd let me borrow a little of that strength. Maybe even let me tag along for a while. Had Sabretooth not attacked and Scott and Storm not taken us back to the school, would he have gotten rid of me at the next town? I never used to think so, but now I thought he would have. The Logan who grudgingly gave me a lift wasn't the same Logan who tried to die for me on the top of the Statue of Liberty.

Two days, and he'd changed. Suddenly, we were in this whole new world of superheroes and villains, and our vague relationship as driver and hitchhiker transformed into a friendship based on mutual understanding and loyalty. Fierce loyalty. As far as I know, he never even questioned it. I brought out his intrinsic protective streak and he made me feel wanted. Everything between us developed from there. Our foundation.

The fact that four and half years later things between us were still in development was not something I should be resentful about. I figured that's just how relationships work. There's no pause button and there's no fast-forwarding to the good parts.

I learned that one the hard way, I thought, because I hadn't been able to fast-forward these past two years. But shouldn't this be the good part already? Maybe it was past due. Or maybe I didn't deserve it.

In the time we were apart, we'd both changed. Logan had finally gotten the answers to some of the questions that had been agitating him for two straight decades, and the knowing had aged him significantly. As for me, at twenty-two, I had two jobs and my own apartment. I was as much of an adult as I ever had been or could imagine myself being, although I knew there was nothing in front of me but a endless change. It was exhausting to think about how far I'd come since eighteen. I could only imagine what I'd think of my past selves at forty.

I knew how I felt about myself at twenty: betrayed. I'd truly thought Logan had done me wrong, that I was a victim of some frustrating mix of a hero complex and an age discrimination, and that my forgiveness was a sign of maturity. Not so. Truth was, I'd done him wrong and been all the blinder for it.

The one thing Logan remembered about sleeping with me was that my eyes had been closed. I could picture how I must have seemed to him. Even while touching him, responding to him, I'd been self-contained. In trying so hard to preserve the experience, I'd taken everything he had and given back nothing of myself. And, not only had I not realized what I'd done, it was last thing I'd wanted for either of us.

Yesterday morning I'd felt so close to him, caught up in a hug so all-consuming my feet had left the floor, literally feeling his feelings with him…That side-effect was so sporadic, it'd only happened, what, three times? Was it possible to control? Dr. McCoy might have written something about in my file.

Even now I didn't want to read it.

So I resolved to do so. I put the binder in my messenger bag when I went for brunch with the gang. When they were on their way, I went to the National Mall sat down and opened the first page.

Charts and graphs. Statistics. There were notes, too, but all of them tempered by Dr. McCoy's grand sense of acceptance and generosity. During the trial period between eighteen to twenty when we worked the most closely together, he referred to me as exceptionally patient and accepting. During the Warbird period, he actually called me brave.

I was crying by the last page. I'd been so afraid of this file as Truth, but was a lie. Saint Rogue, mired in tragedy and but strong to the core. Bullshit. I wasn't like that – maybe I seemed that way to Dr. McCoy or maybe he was just trying to be kind. What a sad, unintentionally cruel joke. "Knowledge is Power" my ass. This wasn't science. This was a whitewashing of history.

Gripping the binder in my hands, I could have broken it in half. I was so angry at it. It was supposed to have been a grail, holy in writ. But it was just another misrepresentation, more slant interpretation. After all that angst, the damn thing didn't even have any power over me. And I was angry because of it. How perverse.

An epiphany shot through me in a sudden burst. It was nebulous and inarticulate, but it was powerful. The only thing better than knowledge: understanding.

The bus stop was only a few blocks away, so I started toward it. My brisk walk soon turned into a jog, which turned into a sprint, which made my feet leave the ground –

I was up!

Two little girls looking up at their kites. One pointed and yelled, "Mommy! Mommy!" The other waved and grinned, so I did loops that made them both jump up and down and clap. I didn't think I'd ever felt so thrilled to be a mutant. Different, yes, but special and in a good way.

And why not? This was my country. I spiraled up the Washington Monument and dove back down, gliding low over the Reflecting Pool. I was getting "oohed" and "awed" at, pictures were being snapped. As I arched over the Lincoln Memorial, I wanted to yell, "Freedom!" or "God Bless America!" or something stupidly patriotic, but I just laughed.

I bet at least one person down there was ardently wishing he or she could shoot me right out of the sky. They could kiss my aerodynamic ass. It was partly because of people like them, their hate and fear driving everyone to the edge of the extreme – breaking the nation into us and them, pitting us against ourselves – that I even had the power to fly.

That realization gave me an extra burst of energy that took me all the way back to my apartment. A lesson that hit me by way of epiphany but one that I'd learned and accepted only over time: share the burden.


	26. Process of Becoming, 6

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Yesterday ~_

Logan was asleep on the single lounge chair Scott had managed to squeeze on out on our balcony, the butt of a cigar on the ground below his dangling hand. A book lay open on his chest. _The Things They Carried_, judging by the color of the cover. So very fitting.

Turning over so I my feet were dangling toward the ground, I slowed my decent and landed beside his chair. Studying his face, I wondered if I should wake him up. He was exhaustion personified, but he didn't look terribly comfortable, stiff as he was, his features drawn up in an immobile scowl. No rapid eye movement, so he wasn't having a nightmare. I laughed soundlessly. Only Logan could be dead to the world and still look plenty pissed off by it.

Slowly, I leaned down to brush my lips against his forehead, trying hard not to remember that touch was equal parts joy and agony.

Reflex kicked in before I had time to intellectually register the hand clamping around mine or the other shooting toward my throat. I caught his wrist, yelping, "Easy!"

The tips of Logan's claws pushed against the skin between his knuckles but didn't slice through. In the span of three accelerated heartbeats, his disquietingly vicious expression flattened.

"Marie," he stated, as if to remind himself.

He released my hand. I let go of his wrist. We watched each other's finger marks fade.

"Didn't mean to do that," he apologized, turning away.

I forced my tone casual. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm a lot stronger than I used to be."

Rubbing his wrist as he glanced back me, he said in all seriousness, "I'm glad."

"That's not the only thing different about me. You missed my grand entrance." Drawing up my body like Kurt used to when he stood before an audience at the Munich Circus, I leaped into a series of flips that would make him proud. When I touched down on the edge of the balcony, Logan had both eyebrows raised.

Grinning, I struck a Wonder Woman pose. Also fitting, because if there was anything Logan and I needed it was a Lasso of Truth – we'd finally get everything we needed to say out in the open and then we'd still have time for some light bondage play afterward. "Duh-duh-daa-daaaa! Be impressed."

Logan feigned non-interest. He looked up at the cloudless sky. "Nice weather we're having."

"Spoilsport," I laughed, plopping my butt down gracelessly on the rail. Logan winced at that, so I teetered on the edge of falling just to give him a hard time.

He shook his head. "You worry me, kid."

"Same to you, bub. But fear not. I inherited a lot of things from you," I admitted. "Your Molson addiction, your inexplicable penchant for giant belt buckles – I kicked your death wish a long time ago." That last part I said seriously. If we were going to talk, we weren't going to do it halfway. I wanted to start with the only thing about Logan's nature that truly frightened me: his lack of self-regard.

Logan closed his book as he sat forward, his legs going to either side of the long chair. He looked at me expectantly, his expression asking me if I really wanted to get into this. I committed by sliding off the balcony and sitting cross-legged at the end of the lounge. No running this time.

"Marie, you remember – In Canada when I about left you cold out in the middle of nowhere. You remember what you said to me?"

The corner of my mouth tugged up. "Of course I do. I said, 'I saved your life,' and you said, 'No you didn't' like a big, ungrateful jerk."

"Right," he replied wryly. "But you didn't save my life in the bar. First time you touched me, that's when you did it."

"You mean the first time I almost killed you." So I'd scared him out of wanting to die. Great.

"The first time you let me save your life," Logan countered. "I should've killed you. About anybody else would've died, and I would've been…You were just some girl, world-weary but charming as hell, with one of those big, bright futures ahead of you. For the worst second of my life, I thought I stole that from you. Then you took it back. You gave me a second chance. Then you gave me a third chance, when I thought I was too late. You've given me nothin' but chances, and I won't ever be able to pay you back for 'em."

I looked at him quizzically. "You made me a promise when I didn't have a single person in the whole, wide world. If it weren't for you, I never would've trusted Professor Xavier. I'd be alone. I'd be dead, or I'd be alone."

"That promise – I've let you down more than once."

"Just the once." I poked at the chair's canvas covering. "I told myself a million times that I understood why you left – but two years?"

Logan let out a weary sigh through his nose. "Two years to do what? Locate the base? That took three months. The rest of it…We started a war. Takes a bit of doing."

"War?" My brain could hardly process the word. "Mutants against humans?"

"Civilian against military. Mutants on both sides. Some against their will."

"I don't understand. How can there be a war nobody's even heard of? It's 2014. A bomb goes off in Burundi and CNN's got full coverage within the hour."

"You think if something's not televised it's not happening? It's been nearly a decade since anybody's had eyes on the ground in 'Nam." Logan shrugged. "But I get your point. Nothing stays internal forever. Get major cities involved, somebody's bound to notice. That's why we had to get out of there. How would it look?"

"Okay…" I thought about taking the high road, but forced myself to say what I really wanted to. "But you were in contact with the Professor. I didn't hear a word from you. Not a phone call, not one letter. A message the Professor could give me – 'Miss you, kid.' 'Wish you were here, you'd like the food,' 'Met a local girl the other day. Needed repeated saving, reminded me of you.' Nothing. Two years. Why?"

"Because – " Logan scrubbed both hands over his face. "Because I knew, every time I talked to you, you'd ask me to come home, and I would want to. Every time I thought about you, I wanted to. I couldn't have that. I needed to be soldier."

He reached behind him to pull out his wallet. He dumped out a stack of ripped, glossy scraps and dropped them between us. One of them had part of my face on it.

The eight pieces the picture of us had been torn into were all accounted for. I fit them together like a puzzle. I gave him that picture before he left. I wanted him to remember me – remember us – by it.

"Why'd you tear it up?" I asked as neutrally as possible.

"I didn't. Dragon did."

I hadn't expected that answer. "Why?"

"To teach me a lesson."

"About being a soldier?"

"Yeah." He scooped the pieces back up and placed them back in his wallet. "I would've fixed it, but I didn't have any tape."

"I'll get you a new picture."

"I don't want a new picture."

"I'll get you some tape, then." My eyes were stinging, and for once it wasn't out of self-pity. "I'm not sorry I kept you from being the perfect soldier, whatever that means. We're supposed to be the good guys. No one should ask you to give up yourself like that. I don't care what the cause is."

Logan shook his head. "I'm a soldier. That's who I am. Civil War to Vietnam and more – That's my past. That's all I ever was. Soldier."

"What? No –"

"A hundred and fifty plus years. It's in the file. Vietnam is when I started working with Stryker. His special project."

"He indoctrinated you."

"What the hell did he have to indoctrinate? All that blood – " Logan stopped himself. Closed his eyes, held his breath.

It was agony to watch his face. I wanted to look away, but I didn't dare in case he opened his eyes and caught me.

"I – I don't believe that. You can't believe that. One hundred and fifty years is a long time. No one can go that long without loving someone. No one. You had a family once. You had a name."

"James Howlett," he gritted out, almost like it was one word. Then he looked at me.

I was astonished. I instantly had a million questions. The one that came out was, "And 'Logan'?"

"I used it as my alias even before I started working with Stryker. It doesn't say why." He paused. "And I don't know how I remembered it, when I've forgotten everything else." He shrugged. "But I thought it could be mine, so I kept it."

"Logan is yours. You made it yours, just like you made yourself so much more than a soldier. You are more. You've got to know that."

He reached over still my hands. I froze, not realizing how badly I'd twisted my gloves. He drew one off by the tip. The other one he left for me to take off myself.

"I do know that," he said after a moment. "Like I said before, I owe you."

I rested my bare hand on his forearm.

He'd given me touch. I wanted to use it to comfort him. Lightly, I trailed my fingertips down the raised vein in his arm.

Eyes on our skin, he said, "It's good that you can still do that."

A terrible sort of hope against hope swelled inside of me. Before, he'd apologized for being the one who could touch me. But that had been two years ago. To me, it sounded like he'd changed his mind. Could be that he'd changed his mind about other things between us, too.

A sigh, almost a groan, escaped his throat. "You can't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Shyly, I caught my lower lip.

This time it was definitely a groan. "C'mere." Impelling me by my elbows, he turned me around and pulled me toward him so my back rested against his chest.

As I tried to settle into one of our old, friendly cuddles, the thump of my heart was embarrassingly loud. His arms enveloped mine, skin touching skin all the way up. I was self-consciously rigid for a long few minutes, before I let myself suddenly relax into him. Logan surrounded me so fully, I could feel our connection open once more. Whatever he was thinking was warm and tucked me in better and safer than any cocoon ever could.

Nuzzling my face under his chin, I asked, "Do you think the reason you were so willing to believe the solider explanation is because it's easier? I mean, easier than knowing that there's still a lot about your past you don't know. Like, I know going back to Vietnam was supposed to be the end of your search, but now you just have more questions."

"Yeah," he agreed succinctly.

"That's sort of how I felt when I read my file this morning. I was expecting...a lot more. But it's just a version of what happened. A really clean, really nonjudgmental version. You'd think I'd be happy, right? But I'm like you. Good or bad, I just want the truth. I'll never have that. I can't even remember it right, and I was there."

He didn't have to ask what "it" was. He knew. And he didn't have to ask me to talk to him, because I started telling him my side of it immediately. To the best of my ability, I took responsibility for what I'd done – me, not Warbird. She was merely an influence. I should've been stronger than her.

I hadn't been, and because of that I'd hurt people. Not only John, but others as well. I didn't have names to match with a lot of the faces. An older man, the landlord of the building the Brotherhood had decided to use. I could still hear the sickening pop his index finger had made as I twisted it into snapping. The landlord had given in quickly after that, which had been disappointing to me. But his agreement to forgo the issue of rend indefinitely went a long way in securing the Brotherhood's trust in me. I'd done more than that. A lot of worse things, some better. I'd said horrible things, too. Especially to Jubilee. Warbird had had a vendetta against her since Jubilee had nearly bested her in the fight in the metro rail.

Reliving the whole godawful experience was cathartic in a way. I got it all out. I didn't cry, which surprised me. My eyes were actually painfully dry. I talked until I didn't have anything more to say. It took a long silence before either of us realized that I was through. Letting out a shaky sigh of release, I sat forward so I could look at Logan. His expression conveyed his open, unspoken fury.

"I didn't tell you that so you'd feel angry or sorry for me. I wanted to make it right between us. No secrets. We don't need to pretend to be perfect for each other. We're better the way we are."

His scowl turned helpless. "I should've been there. I would've found you."

"I didn't want to be found. Besides, you're here now. When I actually have the ability to appreciate your help. That's good enough for me."

All harshness in his features softened. "You deserve more."

"Logan, what does that even mean?"

"It means – I don't know. Good stuff. Stuff you can count on."

"Well, sure. Everybody wants that. Don't you?" He didn't respond, so I said, "I want that for you."

"Thanks." There was a hint of derisiveness in his voice.

"Just so you know, being able to count on something and being trapped by it aren't the same."

"Yeah?" Doubtlessly, he wasn't thrilled with the way this conversation was going, but he was willing to humor me.

"One's usually a positive connotation, the other's always negative."

"The positive one's worse. You count on something because you want it. If you want something, you're trapping yourself."

"You get what you want. So what if you're trapped?"

"Then you can't get out."

"Why would you want to?"

"Maybe you don't want to. Maybe you have to."

"But why?"

"'Cause maybe it's not healthy, loving anything that much."

My breath caught, inaudibly. His hazel eyes were so compelling I had a hard time forming a reply. Finally, I said, "Not healthy or too scary?"

Logan clenched his jaw. "Not healthy."

My eyes fell to my bare hands, which were clasped in my lap. "If you don't wanna talk about this, I'll shut up right now. I'll – I'll back off."

He cursed lowly.

"What?" Was he mad at me now? I thought I was doing him a favor.

"Marie…" He said my name like it was painful.

"No, no. I don't mean back off like I did before. Not from our friendship. I just mean – Well, you know." I feigned a shrug. "Wanting more."

He still looked like he wanted to stand up and flip over the chair.

"Logan. What?"

Gesturing decisively with one hand, he stated, "Either way you look at it, I end up a selfish bastard."

"Not following."

"Forget it. Forget everything, all right? Can't we…Let's just see what happens."

How noncommittal of him. I leaned back against him, hiding my stunned expression. Logan was willing to try. He was willing to give me what little he thought he had piece by piece, trusting me not to screw him over again.

"We'll see what happens," I echoed.

Logan answered by wrapping his arms around me again and burying his face into my neck. I concentrated on trying to make sure he felt the same comforting warmth I did.


	27. Process of Becoming, 7

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Love Me Tender ~_

There is physicality to the past. The warm flush of remembered pleasures, the steady breathing that accompanies calm reflections, the tightness of tear-tracked skin. The sudden choke of a retrospective humiliation so strong that the eyes pinch shut, teeth bite into tongue, fingernails sink into flesh. Or the relentless gut gnawing that compresses the lungs and constricts the arteries to the heart. The hollowness of not knowing.

That Logan and I had decided on a forward trajectory only increased my desire to look into our past. Over the next few days, everything reminded me of a past incident that I needed to drag up, examine, and explain.

When Scott came back, seeing the two of them together inevitably reminded me of the woman I pretty much owed my entire inglorious journey into self-discovery to. Jean Grey was and would always will be the specter standing with Scott just as assuredly as she will always be the woman who made Logan want to be an honorable man.

Sunday night, watching them sniff and circle each other warily, I remember, vividly, the day I'd forgiven Logan for loving Jean instead of me. I'd been looking around the Mansion for him because I'd needed his help again, perpetually, for anything and everything. I'd found him on the second floor, standing in the small balcony overlooking the enclosed garden where Jean had her memorial.

He'd had his fingers stuffed in his tight jeans pocket and his elbows held out at stiff angles. He'd tucked them in when I'd come to stand beside him.

Stuffing the folded paper I had with me in my back pocket, I'd leaned my forearms against the iron railing and titled my head up at his profile.

"Does it feel all of a sudden like we've moved on?"

"All of sudden?" I'd asked, really wanting to question the "we" part.

"We did without for four months and now…"

"Now we have a new doctor in the med lab." I'd squinted one eye against the bright afternoon sun. "And Cyclops has started shaving again."

Logan snorted.

I'd dropped my neck so my eyes were on my white gloves. "I don't know. Aren't we supposed to move on?" I hadn't been able to stop myself from placing a little emphasis on the "we," so I'd had to cover it up by placing too much on the "supposed."

He'd given me a sharp glance. "I'm not saying we aren't."

I'd chewed on my lip, not understanding why he'd would chose to dwell on it then. I'd waited for him to stop looking at me before I'd asked, "Do you think you could have made her happy?"

That question had been a slight variant on, "Why did you love Dr. Grey?" to which he had responded a few weeks ago, "Hard to say," before giving my ankle a pat and leaving the lounge.

This time, he hadn't even answered.

My heart had gone out to him. "I think you could have. In a different way than Cyclops, but I definitely think you could have." It had cost me something to say that, because it'd felt equal parts disloyalty to myself and loyalty to him.

"It stopped being about that when she died." There'd been a closed-lipped smile on his face for me when he'd put his hand between my covered shoulder blades and directed me back into the hallway. "Did you want something?"

"Kind of. There's a big March Madness tournament going on, two hundred dollar prize, and, anyway, I really want to beat Bobby. Well, I want to beat everyone, but especially Bobby." I'd taken out my brackets from my pocket and handed it over to Logan. He'd looked over my picks as we walked.

"Why so concerned with beating Bobby?"

"I want him to think that I know all about sports."

Make that needed Bobby to think that, because when he'd asked what I did with Logan, I'd told him that we watched TV, including ESPN. He'd jumped on that, asking me if I even liked sports. Of course I'd replied that I was a huge fan and concocted a couple of kernel-of-truth stories set in my Uncle Nuts' sports bar back in Meridian to prove it. Anything to cover up the fact that I'd been willing to watch anything, so long as I got my Logan time.

"You can't make people think something about you. You can fool them awhile, but it always comes out. So why bother?"

"I'm greedy. Will you please evaluate my picks?"

"Okay. Tennessee, all right. George Mason, good. But what makes you think Illinois has a chance in hell at taking it?"

"Kitty said – "

"Wishful thinking never won anybody two hundred bucks."

I'd thought, And wishful thinking never won Logan Jean's heart anymore than it had won me Logan's. But I at least had Bobby. All Logan had was rejection buried under gallons and gallons of water. It wasn't a fair deal, so I'd forgiven them both.

How generous of me, right? I really thought I'd been such a kind, caring selfless person at that moment. Thinking about it just made me want to pat my old self condescendingly on the head. Oh, me.

What'd been worse, at that point I hadn't even considered Scott's feelings on the matter. He was completely off my radar. Whereas now I looked at him with such a swell of admiration and fond exasperation. As much as I'm like Logan, I'm like Scott, too. Same desire for control, same need to prove myself a hero, same jealous tenacity when it comes to the ones we love.

I remembered, too, that day so long ago when I'd laid on my bed and tried to figure out where I fit in with the personalities that dominated my world – the ones, for the most part, I hadn't touched. I'd been fearless that day and hadn't even realized it. I hadn't been afraid that turning to others would negate my own sense of self.

I'd missed a step, though. My willingness to mimic my friend's strength hadn't made it outside of my shell. Instead of drawing them closer, I pushed them as far away from me as possible.

The second night Logan was back, when we were settled in my bed to sleep, I apologized for pushing him away all those years ago. "I thought I was being strong," I explained.

"You did what you thought you had to," Logan replied. His hold on me was tight.

"Maybe in a way. But in another way, I was also running. You were being too good a friend." He'd tried to get me to face aspects of myself that I just wasn't ready to see.

"Not the friend you needed. That's when you picked up the elf. You gotta thing for guys who've saved your life."

The touch of wryness in his voice made me smile in the partial darkness. "Kurt thinks I'm perfect. You know, the paternal unconditional sort of deal. I needed that."

"I get the difference. I'm not your father, I'm your friend."

Grinning now, I snuggled in deeper. "Exactly. Despite what you may have heard about the South…"

"Point taken." He shifted his lower body away from the curve of my hips almost imperceptivity, a movement that was at odds with the way his fingers caressed my skin where the tank top I wore had ridden up.

Maddened by it, I rolled onto my other side so I was half-lying on his chest. "More skin this way," I said by way of explanation, trailing my hands down his arms and rubbing my cheek against the sprinkle of hair on his chest where his beater didn't cover.

After a long hesitation, Logan caressed my spine underneath my tank top. I would have purred, if I wasn't too afraid that he'd stop. I pressed my lips to his collarbone, my fingertips to the twin pulses at his wrist. Skin to skin. No touch sensation in the world was more gratifying.

"Go to sleep," he told me, betraying how much I affected him with his gruffness.

I pushed myself up so I could give him my best doe eyes. "Whatever you want, Logan."

"Marie…"

An instant later, Logan's fingers were tangled in my hair and his mouth was clamped under mine. My only coherent thought as I draped my arms about his neck was, Finally! That, and a moment of gratitude to Jubilee for buying me the tiny pair of shorts that Logan's hand was inching up.

My own hands dipped lower to his shoulders and his back to knead the skin and muscles there. He pushed me more fully on top of him. I pressed my knees on either side of his firm waist. I cupped the sides of his face, my mouth now clamped on top of his, my tongue pressing deeper. I couldn't breathe very well through my nose and it was beginning to make me dizzy.

Logan readjusted his me in his arms, causing me to slip lower. A groan escaped his throat. For a long moment, we remained still – clutching each other, breathing into each other's mouths, utterly aware of the pressure of my body against his erection. I opened my eyes slowly and saw that his were shut tight.

The reversal and the tenseness on his face told me that this wasn't the time. Carefully, I slid from his loosening grip so that was on lying at his side. I watched his eyes open and his face relax slightly.

"Can't do anything halfway with you, can I?" His tone was gruff, but there was a wistful quality behind it.

"No," I replied, smiling a little nervously. "I guess not."

Logan gave me a squeeze and then rolled off the bed.

I didn't begrudge him his retreat. "Tease," I mumbled, burying my grinning face into the pillow he'd just been using.

"Go to sleep, Marie," he said again, but in a way that made me stifle a giggle.

Even though, for all intents and purposes, Logan had pretty much rejected me just now, I didn't feel any of the shame I would've felt two years ago. What's more, the kiss had been a natural and mutual evolution of the moment. How absolutely gratifying. Why the hell had I thought just days ago that forcing whatever Logan and I had was the best way to go? Spontaneity was so much sexier.

Hope ached in my like a bruise; we'd made progress.


	28. Process of Becoming, 8

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Here Comes The Sun ~_

And, lo, I finally, finally had enough self-confidence to just relax. Good thing, too, because Logan needed more R&R than anyone with his healing ability should have any thoughts of. Further proof that his time in Vietnam had been, to borrow a phrase, fucked up beyond all recognition.

And not only had the past two years been FUBAR, Logan was suffering from an avalanche of disjointed, bloody-minded memories of his soldiering past. The resulting nightmares, despite my healing and super strength, made him wary of turning me into so much shredded material, so he took up residence on the pull-out couch. Over the next week, we fell into a routine where I would cuddle up with him on the couch until I inevitably feel asleep. Most of the them, I woke up tucked into my own bed, but a couple times he let me stay with him all night.

During the day, Scott and I worked while Logan did whatever Logan did. There was a glib levity about him in the daytime, mostly, I thought, for Scott's sake. Around Scott, he was the same old hostile, sardonic Logan with his one-track mind and unveiled insults. Watching Logan and Scott interact was like an impromptu psych lesson on male bonding techniques. It was enlightening and entertaining at the same time. Actually, the way all three of us interacted with one another was more than slightly dysfunctional. But it worked for me.

I came home one evening with some takeout and found the guys playing cards. Billy Idol was on as background music. "Kicking it eighties-style again, there, Scott?" I observed, setting down the Chevy's Tex-Mex bags and my purse on the bar, which separated the kitchen from the living room.

Skipping the pleasantries, Scott went directly for the food. "Did you remember my hot sauce?"

"Yes, I remembered your hot sauce." I shook my head despairingly at Logan, who was still sitting at the table. "I forget one time – "

"Twice," Scott interrupted, scraping his dinner out of one of the Styrofoam boxes and onto a plate.

"It was not twice. It was only once."

"It was twice."

"Saying it louder isn't going to make it any more right."

"Taking that tone won't make it any more wrong."

"When'd you two get married?" Logan murmured, his eyes on the poker chips he was stacking.

Scott and I immediately stopped arguing. We laughed a little, as an afterthought.

"Sorry about that," I replied. "We have a tendency to bicker, if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed."

"Jealous?" Scott asked, sending him a triumphant smirk.

Purposely turning around so I couldn't see Logan's reaction, I slipped off my pumps and tossed them over by the door. "Okay boys, no more fighting. It's been a long day. The big fundraiser dinner tomorrow is hell on everybody's nerves."

"What happened to you being a glorified secretary?" Logan asked, getting up.

Padding around into the kitchen, I yawningly complained, "Only when I'm not a glorified bulletproof vest."

"I hate it when you sell your position so short," Scott said, clearing a space for his dinner on our round kitchen table. "And if you don't want to do the menial tasks then don't. I've always said you should integrate yourself in more with the security staff."

"I'm not packing the right kind of 'heat' to merit an invitation to that club," I said, rolling my eyes. I took down two plates from the cupboards and sat them next to the remaining Styrofoam boxes. "Besides, it's what McKenna wants. He's the president. I can't say no to the president."

"Sure you can," Logan disagreed, pulling out silverware from the drawer closest to the sink. "'Mr. President,' you say, 'With all due respect, fuck off.' That simple"

Amused, I shook my head. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'll say. And then get fired and possibly jailed."

"Would getting fired be a bad thing?" Logan held out a spoon.

Taking it, I scooped out his burritos onto one of the plates and my chicken fajitas on another. "Considering I effectively dropped out of college, I'm pretty sure this the best job I'm ever going to get. Outside of the X-Men." I took our plates to the table. Logan got us a beer and a Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator, and then sat down beside me.

"Speaking of jobs and the X-Men," Scott said between mouthfuls, "I spoke with Charles today. He's making a lot of changes."

"For the dinner? I hope it's additional manpower. Er, peoplepower. Mutantpower? Whatever. Just, more is better, as far as security is concerned. Pretty much all the mutant sympathizers in politics are going to be there. That's almost too good a target to pass up."

"Charles knows that, believe me," Scott replied. "All the X-Men – even the juniors and the reserves – will be there for the dinner. But, after that, the Professor's going to Tokyo to exchange favors with Tokuzawa. Tokuzawa's going to get his best guys working with Karma and Dragon on the files from the base we haven't been able to decode yet, in exchange for the Professor getting Magneto and all his influence out of Japan. The Professor's leaving Storm in charge of running the school, and me in charge of recruitment, for the school and the X-Men. So, I'm going back to Westchester, and Keller's going to take over my lobbying. He's been wanting to set up some Washington connections before he graduates, so this'll be the perfect opportunity for him."

"Oh, Scott, no. I can't live with Keller. I'd kill him."

"Well, you have a choice. You can either stay here with Keller, or you can let Colossus take over guarding the President and become a recruitment officer."

"Recruitment officer?"

"I'm delegating my job. I find them, and then you and Logan go get them."

"Logan."

"That's right. We have to have something for him to do, besides sitting around all day watching TV and eating all our food."

Logan, in the middle of a long swig of beer, flipped Scott off.

"So, what, we'd live back at the school?"

"I guess so," Scott shrugged.

"I'll think about it," I replied, poking a piece of chicken with my fork. Doubtless, I was going to take the recruitment officer job, because I wasn't about to let Logan go anywhere without me. I just wished we could stay here. This was my territory.

The past week or so had been great. While I was gone, Logan had nothing to do but wait for me to return. I was a little afraid of slipping back – of Logan resuming his role as the big man, and me being, at best, his sidekick.

I knew he had an opinion on the matter, but he didn't betray one.

After we ate, the three of us played a few hands of poker – Logan dominated – and then a few rounds of my favorite card game, Spite and Malice. As usual, Scott called it a night at precisely eleven o'clock and we turned on the news. Even though it made my brain hurt, we tended to watch a lot of FOX.

That night's debate was about the registered mutant alert system being adopted in a lot of red states, particularly back home in Mississippi. As it stood, if there was a registered mutant in the vicinity – tracked through credit cards or whatever – you could elect to get a text message and, as the whiney, alarmist host Susan Somerholden said, "Make sure you're clued into the potential danger at all times." The guest, a mutant right's activist named Paul Vincent – one of the Professor's contacts, according to Scott – argued, "Registered sex offenders have more right to privacy."

Scarily enough, Governor Sherman, who just had to be from Mississippi, wanted to up the ante by supporting a law that would require all mutants in the state to have a transmitting chip placed in their hands so that their activities can be monitored.

"Good, honest mutants – and I'll admit, they are out there – have nothing to fear from this bill," Susan lipped, liked she'd never been introduced to Orwellian philosophy.

Paul shook his head emphatically. "Good, honest mutants have a lot of fear already, with only the MRA to contend with. In a lot of places, in blood tests before getting marriage licenses, they check for the mutant gene the way they do for AIDS. And like AIDS, there's talk of a law that requires mutants to tell inform their partners about their 'Mutation-Positive' status."

"What's wrong with honesty, Paul? Mutant children are a lot of responsibility. There have been so many reports – "

"Yes, let's talk about mutant children. Let's talk about the fact that they're being forced to out themselves in oftentimes hostile environments. In some states they have to bring their parents along to co-sign their registration. The MRA has been directly linked to a spiked increase in adolescent and juvenile runaways. Need I remind you that the terrorist attack in L.A. was perpetuated by runaways?"

"But, and correct me if I'm wrong, but you have been quoted as agreeing with the MRA in many ways."

"The healthcare benefits, the support structures – Yes. Good things have come from the MRA. But. The true test of this Nation's integrity is how it will be used."

"You're in favor of national control rather than local control."

"Local control didn't work during Jim Crow. The Supreme Court and Congressional interference was deemed necessary."

"What if Democrats don't keep the White House this election? Will you still be in favor of a National policy them?"

"If Governor Sherman is elected, I believe it will be the end of personal freedoms as we know them, for mutant and human alike."

"That's an awfully bold statement."

"It is, Susan. It is. Fortunately, I really don't foresee the election going that way. Yes, Jim Crow laws are blatant where they were blatant before, but I see that as an opportunity for reform. The Southern half of the United States really needs to take a good, hard look at themselves and ask, 'What am I teaching my children here? Am I teaching them compassion? Or am I only teaching fear and hatred?'"

"They're teaching self-preservation. Mutants aren't another race – The have real supernatural powers that they can and do use against us. The polls have shown that the average American is a conservative at heart, especially when it comes to making sure their families are safe. For a lot of people, Governor Sherman represents that safety. You can't deny the facts."

"Susan – Susan, I'm not denying the facts. I'll agree with you, average Americans are conservatives at heart because conservatism is safety. But you have to factor in their compassion. Compassion, Susan. America is the land of personal freedom. I don't think any true American will sit idly by and allow such a travesty – "

"People feel threatened – "

"People felt that way a decade ago, when marriage between homosexuals was perceived as a threat to the family values they held so dear. They went to their rallies and supported gay marriage bans, but when extremists took it too far, when they stepped over the line and started using the law as a means of persecution, the average American said no. They put their foot down, did a complete one-eighty. That's why, today, gay marriage is legal in all fifty states, and why I believe that average American is going to vote Democrat."

I took the remote control from Scott and clicked the power. That was the America I wanted to live in and that was the America I believed in. I didn't need to hear any more.


	29. Process of Becoming, 9

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ Too Much ~_

Scott said goodnight, and I left to get ready for bed then, too. Wearing silk pajama shorts, a tank top, and no gloves, I came back out into the living room a half-hour later. Logan lit his cigar the moment I sat down beside him on the couch. Despite how action-oriented he was, he favored habit over spontaneity when it came to anything remotely sentimental, and our nightly solace ritual was as close to sentimental as Logan went. That was partly why it caught me so off guard when he broke with tradition and handed me a beer.

"You thought about it yet?" he asked, popping off my tab.

"Huh?"

"The thing. The job. You thought about it?"

"Uh, not really."

"Hm." He set his drink down and picked a wrapped package off the night stand. "I found this in the bottom of my bag. Forgot to give it to you."

Knowing from the abysmal wrapping job that it wasn't from Logan, I had some idea of the contents before I finished opening it. I smiled. Just as I'd thought. "'Rogue's Mix 3,' delightful." I skimmed Flea's note, rolling my eyes at what he'd written. "What a suck-up Mr. Travis Ryan has become."

"Boy tracked me down especially to give you it. Looks like you got an admirer," Logan said.

Liking his tone a lot, I smirked, "The 'boy' is eighteen now. But, please, no. Not an admirer. And, even if he was, I don't like 'em young."

Too close to home. Logan brushed it off with just a, "Hm," and another sip of beer, but definitely still a little tetchy about the age thing. How retrogressive.

Setting the CD on top of the blanket, I explained, "I bet he's trying to get me to babysit him and his friends at this mutant battle of the bands. The Professor said they couldn't enter without supervision. I'm letting him suffer a little before I agree. Seems only fitting."

"Taking out your frustration at having to live with Scotty-boy?"

"I like living with Scotty-boy. Haven't you noticed?" I sipped my beer. "I like it here in general," I admitted. "I like…Where I'm at. I like where we're at. But…I mean," I shrugged. "It could be fun. You and me, doing the superhero thing. If that's what you want."

Logan flicked a glance my way. "You'd do anything for me."

It wasn't quite a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah."

"I'd do the same for you."

"I know that." God, I loved to hear it, though.

He gave his cigar a thoughtful roll. "I don't want to you be unhappy."

"Logan, I wouldn't take the job if I thought it would make either of us miserable."

"I think you'd like it. Lots of travel, lots of variety. Xavier's already got a mission in mind – mutant girl on trial in Saudi Arabia."

I perked up considerably. "Saudi Arabia? No kidding? Like, a real, live rescue and everything?"

"Yeah, what'd you think? I'd agree to a bunch of sit-downs in the suburbs? We'll get the high-intensity cases. Not all of them will be international, but it involves a lot of quick travel. That means the X-Jet, and I'm no pilot. I need a partner who can handle her."

A slow, wide grin broke out onto my face. "I don't have an updated resume on me, but I can promise you with full confidence that I'd be the best partner you could ever hope for."

"A never doubted it," he said.

And that was that.

The following day, I put in my resignation, effective as of the morning after the fundraiser dinner. The head of personnel tried to refuse it on the grounds that she couldn't hire another secretary in such short notice, but the Professor was one step ahead of him. Jackie Mueller, McKenna's previous secretary, reappeared back at work that very afternoon with a healthy tan and an efficiently chipper attitude. For all my hard work, I got a handshake from President McKenna and an impromptu cake after lunch. Bureaucracy.

Two days later, as we were wrapping up the final touches on the security at Willard Intercontinental Washington Hotel, Stephanie came out from the ballroom just glowing. "God, this week has been terrific. We're talking multiple nods of approval coming my way. The only thing ruining my promotion-high is you leaving me. Swing night won't be the same."

"Just think of the raise."

"Ah, the raise," she basked. "Kyle and I are already looking for a bigger place."

"That's fantastic. You guys deserve it. Listen – You've got everything in here under control, right? Excellent. Then I am going to go get the security rundown - "

"Going through the exit strategies and floor plans again? Some more?"

"I know the ins and outs of this hotel better than house I grew up in, let met tell you. The combined anal retentiveness of Scott and Carmichael is off the charts."

"Carmichael's Secret Service. They're programmed that way. Like robots. What's Scott's excuse for being an all-around anti-social blowhard? He's never said two words to me in all the times that I've been over to your apartment. I don't even know if he's ever even looked straight at me."

It was a familiar complaint of Stephanie's, but now I felt the need to defend Scott. "He's not a blowhard. He's…tightly strung. Get some liquor in him and he's good to go to Mexico. Anyway, I have got to run. The quicker we go over all that again, the quicker I can get home. I still need to get dressed."

"Ah, yes. You're actually important enough to warrant an invitation to this shindig."

"Mutant privilege," I joked, and Stephanie and I hugged for the very last time. "Tell Kyle I hope his dissertation goes well. I'll miss you guys. Be nice to Peter for me."

"Will do. And, hey, good luck with your man."

"He's not my man yet. All in good time."

Later that evening, as I stood in the doorframe of my room and watched Logan smooth his new, tailored suit jacket – lustful, reckless thoughts dancing around in my head – I offered up all kinds of prayers to all kinds of deities that all in good time wasn't code for an agonizing eternity.

Picking out one of Scott's ties at random, Logan grumbled, "I can't believe I have to wear this penguin suit."

"Oh, I don't know," I replied, coming over to take away the checkered tie in favor of a black bowtie. "I think it's the bee's knees." Answering Logan's mildly puzzled look, I explained, "If you insist on talking like my grandpa, I have no choice but to make fun of you."

Logan scowled. I grinned. I put the bowtie around his neck and began to tie it for him. If I deluded myself enough, I could almost pretend we were a married couple getting ready for a night on the town. Smile gone wistful, I fixed his collar and brushed some nonexistent lint off his shoulders. "You look good."

He looked down at my simple green dress and gauzy black long-sleeved cover. "So do you."

"Thank you," I said, my lips close to his ear. I gave him a kiss on his bristly cheek. His mutton chops didn't quite go with the suit, but, then again, my streak didn't exactly go with the dress. Just went to show that we're a well-matched misfit pair.

"I don't – " He stopped a moment to clear his throat. "I don't see how you're supposed to fight in that thing. It looks…tight."

"Stretchy, actually. And we're potentially dealing with a human enemy tonight. That's not much of a fight." Knitting my eyebrows together, I was about to make a comment on the awkward rhyming when I felt Logan's warm hands settle on my hips.

Gaze directly on mine, he softly ordered, "Don't get cocky. That's dangerous."

"I'm not cocky; I'm experienced. There's a difference. And don't you go looking for trouble. The security around this dinner is the best I've ever seen. We're going to be fine."

"You making bets?"

"I could be persuaded. How about this – It's a ball, right? If we reach midnight with smooth sailing ahead, you have to dance with me."

Logan caught my chin and pulled me forward for kiss that was as unexpectedly soft and sweet as it was brief.

"Marie, you've always been an optimist."

"You love it. And me."

He did needn't to admit it for me to feel its truth. It's kind of funny. All the time I spent worrying about whether or not he loved me enough, he was right there worrying whether he was going to smother me if he held me too tight. The fact that we two frustratingly oblivious people had made it even this far was no small miracle.


	30. Process of Becoming, 10

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

"_Change is the law of life. _

_And those who look only to the past or present _

_are certain to miss the future."_

– _John F. Kennedy –_

**Part Three**

"**Process of Becoming"**

"_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

_Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it._

_This is a kind of death."_

– _Anais Nin –_

_~ The Long and Winding Road ~_

Want to hear something I've learned?

Life isn't fair and too often things are in flux, yadda, yadda. But sometimes, just sometimes, the optimists of this world get to have good days.

This was a good day, and it was going to be a good night, too.

Security really was the best of the best. Earlier in the week, we'd successfully thwarted three separate attempts to smuggle explosives into the hotel's boiler room, which was two stories directly underneath the ballroom we'd reserved for the dinner. And even with those small victories, nothing was left to chance. Metal detectors at every entrance, barricades, heavy surveillance, rehearsed escape routes, extensive background checks for all guests and staff, legions of Secret Service men stationed inside and outside the perimeter, an on-site bomb squad, X-Men – the works. We were prepared for anything.

After dinner and the first round of endorsement speeches and pledges, the guests left their seats to mingle and dance. Nonchalantly sipping water from a wine glass, I kept a vigilant eye on the four key attendees: President McKenna, Professor Xavier, Representative Reis-Steeves, and Mystique.

We were supporting the reelection of Mystique-as-Senator Kelly only because her opponent was Edward Damschroder, an anti-mutant Democrat from Ohio. What's more, there was much to be lost and nothing to be gained by exposing her.

The upcoming congressional elections, though important, were not the focus of discussion. Representative Katherine Reis-Steeves, the House minority leader from Massachusetts, had stolen the show when she'd announced her candidacy for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2016 at a press conference earlier that day. Her work on the Equal Rights for Mutants Act had already made her one of the Professor's greatest political allies; this news only further emphasized her importance to the cause, and was probably going to make her daughter somewhat of a celebrity around the school.

I paused a little before passing Nicole and her fidgety boyfriend, unable to believe that the thirteen year-old little girl who'd sat under my thinking tree and occasionally suffered my emotions was now eighteen and a full inch taller than me.

"Travis, please calm yourself," she implored. "When you're nervous, it makes me nervous."

"Nervous? I'm not nervous. What do I have to be nervous about? Your stepdad's been sending me death glares all night, your mom thinks I'm less than functionally retarded, and no one in the this good goddamn world gives a flying fuck about our demo record." Flea swiped his long blond bangs out of his eyes. "My life's just peachy. Really."

I snorted loudly.

Turning, Nicole greeted me with a wry smile. "Quite a vulgar little mouth on him, huh?"

"Like she cares. She's not a hall monitor. She's not gonna tattle on me. Not like last time."

"Our feud's over, child. No need to be antagonistic."

"What, you wanna fight?" Flea menaced unconvincingly, stepping into my personal space.

Recognizing the danger there, I backpedaled a couple of inches. "Careful. Man, what is it about you that makes it necessary to test my limits?"

"If you asked Nicole's mom, she'd probably say the retarded part."

"That is both rude and untrue. My mother is an extremely fair woman. She would never presume make snap judgments - "

I cleared my throat loudly, indicating with a couple discreet motions of my chin that her mother was striding swiftly in our direction.

"Dearest," Representative Reis-Steeves said with only a hint of censure, "You're somewhat loud."

Nicole went a little pink. "Sorry, mom."

"There are an awful lot of people in here. They're not overwhelming you, are they?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Good." Smiling, she rested a hand on Flea's shoulder for a moment. "Why don't you join us over here? You too, Rogue. You've been working hard enough." As we walked, she put one arm around my waist. "It's been awhile since I've seen you. How have you been?"

"Fine," I replied, trying to cover my unease. I'd only really talked to her on three separate occasions; she was just one of those people who treated every acquaintance like an intimate friend. A politician through and through, she also had a keen memory for detail.

"Professor Xavier tells me you're leaving us. Now, the last time we spoke you said you loved it here in Washington."

"Oh, I do, I do. I just, you know – Time for a change of venue, I guess."

"You want to go out and experience new things. That's certainly understandable." Winking, she added, "I was young once, too."

Laughing with her, I decided that it would be very difficult to dislike Katherine Reis-Steeves. She had that soccer-PTO-mom quality about her that made me think of Jell-O wobblers, the rhythmic pluck of a piano, and freshly cut flowers. More succinctly, she reminded me of my own mother in better days.

Maybe it was the optimism talking, but I knew even then that she was going to win the heart of America.

Once we were standing in front of Mr. Steeves, the Professor, and an irked-looking Logan, she gave me a pat before letting me go. "Daniel, you remember Rogue D'Ancanto."

"Yes, of course," he replied, shaking my gloved hand. I'd only met him once. He'd been there the day Doran Ray Mills had attempted to assassinate President McKenna. Steeves was immaculately groomed rather than handsome, and was one of those men who had that triple-threat aura of wealth, power, and prestige around them. "It's nice to see you again. Mr. Howlett was just telling us a little bit about his recent work in Vietnam."

"Whoa, you have a last name," Flea remarked to Logan, genuinely surprised.

The Professor mirrored my amusement at Flea's astonishment over something that was normally so customary. Even Logan had to lighten up at that one.

Good old Flea. He'd turned out useful in the end.

The party continued, turning more _Great Gatsby_-uptown soirée by the minute. I danced with Bobby, for old time's sake, and Kurt when he wasn't with Storm, and Scott, too.

I really do think there's a crazy mixed up world out there where Jean's alive and with Logan and I'm this whole other person in love with Scott. Hell, there's probably a world where I'm in love with Bobby still, or John even, or Jubilee. The thought of so many unexplored possibilities would've made me uncomfortable just two weeks ago, but I got it now. There's no such thing as fate and identities aren't fixed.

We're free.

Midnight came and went. Logan – the man who I love in this life and will continue to love more as time propels us ever forward – strategically kept to the opposite side of the room.

Everything wound down after that. When the last guest was securely whisked away from the hotel, Scott came over to tell me I'd done a great job. He went back with the Mansion with the Professor and everybody; Logan and I took the car back to the apartment.

Inside, I made a bee-line for the record player. Frank Sinatra, _I've Got the World on a String_.

Logan came up behind me to help me out of my wrap and gloves. Turning, I drew my bare fingertips up along the nape of his neck. "I believe I won a bet."

"Yeah," he admitted, hands caressing the sides of my face. "But I object to the terms. I don't dance."

"Bullshit," I said. "I know your secrets, Logan." I taped my temple. "You taught me to swing dance."

He gave in and swayed to the music with me, though he threw in a half-hearted protest. "You're gettin' me confused, darlin'."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, it sure as hell wasn't Magneto."

No chuckle. He seemed to consider something.

"What?"

"You made a joke about what it's like inside your head."

I smiled. "Hey, I did do that, didn't I? That's a good sign." I started a swing step and he followed suit almost unconsciously. Big liar. I knew it. Smile at full wattage, I said, "It's like Play-Doh, by the way. Inside my head."

"Play-Doh?"

"Yeah. A little too malleable, but with a little creativity I can sculpt some pretty great things out of it."

He twirled me around and dipped me low. I tiled my head back, enjoying the dizzying feeling of love – complicated, deep, and real. My instinct was to close my eyes, to imprint the moment, but I knew there would be a hundred more like it. So I kept my attention on Logan's face and got to watch the lopsided, rakish smile erase the lines from his face.

There's a lot to be said for living your life with eyes wide open.


	31. Reviews

**LAW OF LIFE**

_**thatcraftykid**_

**REVEIWS**

**HONEST DEVELOPMENT**

**The Reserved Reader**

I can't believe I haven't read your story sooner. I've been lurking around the Wolverine/Rogue section of this site for quite some time and it seems like I've just been missing your story. I'm glad that's rectified now.

Your characterization of Rogue is my favorite out of all the stories I have read. I love that she's self-indulgent; it's such a common flaw, yet it isn't often that I read Rogue being that way. The best part is that she grows and realizes that she isn't this perfect being that is the center of everyone's world. You have made Rogue a mature and dynamic character which is very refreshing to read.

This is such a wonderful story:) Now, I am off to read what happens next.

**Ranger ari**

I just finished this trilogy (after devouring your newest xmen series) and noticed your inconceivable lack of reviews. I love your writing; you have such a defined style and the characters are real and fleshed out in your work. I love it. Please continue gracing the fanfiction community with your Logan/Rogue renditions.

**rocks and glass**

This is very good and certainly deserves more reviews than it has, an unfortunate side effect of the rare and sparkling quality of posting a story all at once.

Beautiful story through rouge's life and growth, complete with excellent little plot arcs that add to the overall aim of character development.

I'm going to be horribly lazy and post this review 3 times, but really, you need some more reviews and I can't be bothered to come up with something new when this applies to the series as a whole.

I like too that you continue to develop the character's around Rogue as well, and the little things that keep a story 3D like the thing with the CDs and the kids.

**Serenity Marie**

This is a really great story, and you are a talented writer. I just wanted to let you know your stories are still being appreciated

**Crunch Berry Baroness**

lol this is my favorite line in the chapter:

'I nodded eagerly. Stick me in a maze and call me Squeakers; I'd have done anything to be free.'

I gotta say you portrayed Prof. Xavier splendidly!

**Crunch Berry Baroness**

wow, your details and description are beautiful! i love the part where you compared her mutation to a chastity belt, that was nicely done XD! i can't believe you don't have more reviews!

**oi**

This story is amazing. I love the way you write your ability to express. I do hope we receive another update soon.

**noro**

hope u update soon this story is great update asap fantastic work

**sydney**

Love it!

**TEMPERED MELENCHOLY**

**jamie8**

i love the story but don't you think it should be rated M i am not a prude i loved the story and the other x-men series you have its just for the sake of the litle 10 year old girl that will read this _keep writing_

**Leshaya**

Uhh, this is an amazing story, is it over? Weird ending if it is, leaves alot to be desired. If its not the ending, I look forward to reading more! Best wishes,

**rocks and glass**

This is very good and certainly deserves more reviews than it has, an unfortunate side effect of the rare and sparkling quality of posting a story all at once.

Beautiful story through rouge's life and growth, complete with excellent little plot arcs that add to the overall aim of character development.

I'm going to be horribly lazy and post this review 3 times, but really, you need some more reviews and I can't be bothered to come up with something new when this applies to the series as a whole.

Also, the manner in which you allowed touch is well handled and not forced or over-paced or any of the things that can so easily go wrong with stories.

**Crunch Berry Baroness**

aw this is making me cry T-T. i love this!

Crunch Berry Baroness

aren't chapter 7 and 8 the same? o.o

**Meg**

Dude, Stephanie Meyer should have heard Bobby's profound message on feminism - BRILLIANT!

-moving on to final installment :)

Meg

I read the story before this and now I'm reading this one and I have to say I LOVE IT!

Rogue sounds mature and sensible and now a whiner or angsty as she is usually protrayed. Keep writing more PLEASE! I'm so tired of all the crappy whiny Rogue stories. I alos love how you have Rogue and Wolverine together as friends with a hint of romance but we aren't sure. Keeps me guessing and really reading inbetween the lines of your work.

I noticed you haven't gotten a lot of reviews yet but don't let that get you worried about the quality of your work

Its an awesome story and an awesome plot!

**PROCESS OF BECOMING**

**ToraNoKo123**

bit of an abrupt ending... didn't really show where there relationship went at all. but it was a good series

**Crash Murphy**

These "Law of Life" pieces are so well-written! Great job! I like Logan&Rogue in these stories.

**MewMew2**

This is damn cute. Excellent job, please update this story if you ever feel the whim although it's also fine just as is.

**rocks and glass**

This is very good and certainly deserves more reviews than it has, an unfortunate side effect of the rare and sparkling quality of posting a story all at once.

Beautiful story through rouge's life and growth, complete with excellent little plot arcs that add to the overall aim of character development.

I'm going to be horribly lazy and post this review 3 times, but really, you need some more reviews and I can't be bothered to come up with something new when this applies to the series as a whole.

**Ami L. Mendal**

Oh thank Gawd my firefox is finally letting me review. I really like this. And I mean A LOT. You portray Rogue so intricately, with such detailed imagery and feeling. Please continue, because I can't wait for them to get closer and have their cute little spats. Please update soon! I can't wait any longer =]

**Crunch Berry Baroness**

nicely ended XD! but i wish there was more on their new adventures XS.

**Green Peridot**

Your entire series was amazing. I think I know why you didn't get much recognition for it- introspective, and (relatively) low on action/romance- but you sure deserved a lot more than that. I swear this could get published. (hope I didn't offend with the low on action/romance bit.)

I thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing. It was well written, and the character development was stunningly believable (which is tricky); as was Logan's portrayal. He's a hard nut to crack. But I personally didn't catch an OOC moment in there. Bravo!

And, it made me think. That's what caps it off: this wasn't a mindless story, like so many out there with explosions and one night stands and tears and drama. It made me think about /my/ life. And to me, that's the pinnacle of good writing.

**elvenangel**

Hey I just wanted to say that these three stories you got here and pretty great. Very different approach with the way you write. I love that you delved so deeply into Rogue's psyche and layed everything out like that. I enjoyed reading your trilogy :).


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